


Against the Ropes

by Ziane



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Boxer Jesse McCree, Canon-Typical Violence, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Lots kinds of sex, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Smoking, Yakuza Hanzo Shimada, love too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-11-26 19:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 39,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20935583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ziane/pseuds/Ziane
Summary: When Jesse McCree met Hanzo Shimada, he never expected to fall so hard so fast. Despite the imminent fight that looms over him, he can only think about how would Hanzo feel under the sheets. In a last-minute impulse, McCree surprises the yakuza prince with a shameless proposition that leaves him stunned.





	1. Accidental Butt

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still deep in McHanzo hell and this fic is the living proof of it. Please enjoy this wild ride of smut and love as I update weekly.
> 
> A special mention to my lovely [Dormy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dormchi/pseuds/Dormchi). She's an amazing writer that I admire so much. So if you want top-quality McHanzo content and you've missed them, [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16556663) and [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15316632). You're served! Thank you Dormy! You have helped me so much with your valuable input and your cheerleading when I needed it the most. I always learn a lot from your advice and it helps me grow. Writing is a lonely process, and you've made me invaluable company (⁄ ⁄^⁄ᗨ⁄^⁄ ⁄)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is ruled an accidental butt when two fighter’s heads collide and the referee determines that neither fighter intentionally head-butted the other. Typically both fighters are warned to be careful, but no fighter is penalized.

“We had an understanding!” The angry outburst echoes around the four walls of the office and everything trembles except for the man in front of her. They moved to Japan barely two weeks ago. Unopened boxes huddle against a corner, their home a shared apartment too small for three and this wreck of a gymnasium they rented; as always, business exploding in her face like dynamite.

“Hm.”

At the insouciant answer, Ashe slams a fist against the precarious desk where she spends less than she should and more than she wants. The ashtray stumbles with a thud, its contents unscattered. She has stood up as if looking at the yakuza prick from above would change the outcome of the conversation. It’s too late for that now. She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to deal with the elite of the yakuza empire of Hanamura. Apparently, McCree’s naiveness is rubbing off on her after so many years.

Hanzo whistles the smoke out of his lungs as if the woman in front of him wasn’t about to risk getting manhandled by two bodyguards for a chance to scratch his face. It billows in between them while he puts the cigarette out, smashing it like an accordion. Black, loathsome eyes pin her in place, and at the grimace of disgust that her crimson lips paint, Hanzo graces her with a simper. 

“Consider this an upswing in our agreement,” he quips. 

“That’s rich.” Ashe lets out a snort and reclines back on her chair.

“None of our other fighters could win this. My father wants the American.” The derisive tone of his voice makes her grit her teeth until her jaw aches. “If he’s up to what I’ve heard.”

Without her managing his fights and picking up his opponents, McCree would have had to retire before his twenty-five birthday. “I ain’t throwing my fighter into a death sentence,” she retorts, full of herself and hoping the fool doesn’t find out because that’s the type of deal he’d take only for the money. _ Just this one time, Lizzy, it’ll be fine_, he’d say.

This was supposed to be the last time, a few last gigs, easy fights, in a foreign country where everyone wants a chance against the American, against Deadeye, a fighter who wears a boxing robe with twin revolvers embroidered on his back. Rumors say the marksmanship of his punches is deadlier than any bullet. McCree charms the audience in his pre-fight interviews, always ending with a grin and a wink; by the end, he has them eating out of his hand, and when they dare ask him if he will win, a smug “Deadeye’s ready” purrs out of his mouth. 

Truth is, Ashe is tired of witnessing the aftermath. The pain, the blood spilled on the ring for a few bucks she doesn’t need. She wants him out before it’s too late; before an ill-timed knockout or the physical and psychological trauma ends with a friend that is more like a brother to her. McCree is almost thirty, and he agreed. He’s ready to say farewell to the fights and live his best life as something else. Ashe sighs, her eyebrows knitting. That’s if the cowboy doesn’t decide last-minute that being a boxer is better than enjoying life’s little pleasures. She misses the States, and she misses _her_.

“We didn’t agree to an unsanctioned fight,” Ashe hisses.

At the worrisome furrow in between her dark eyebrows, Hanzo waves his hand dismissively. “It is not unsanctioned,” his voice trails down with arrogance, “just barely legal.” Ashe feels the bile rise in her throat, her hand clenching in a tight fist.

“That was not in the plan.” Through a third party, Ashe arranged a fight hosted by the Shimadas. Lots of easy money, they said, lots of fights afterward. She stares at him as if expecting some kind of negotiation when she already knows he’s determined to get what he wants. No, worse: used to. “You can’t change the terms two nights before the fight, much less the opponent.”

“I can and I have.” Hanzo stands, a black suit elongating his figure, a black shirt tightened around his neck by an also black tie. The only things breaking the harmony of his outfit are the jade color of his skin and the grey sprinkled in his hairline. “I want your fighter, and there’s a lot of money on it already.” 

McCree’s statistics back in the States preceded him. They sure enchanted Sojiro Shimada, and he requested Hanzo to hire him. Twenty-three wins, no draws, one loss; eighteen wins by knock out. This sudden change of plans irked Hanzo too. He made a deal, and now he has to go back on his word, offering something entirely different. The Shimadas rule Hanamura with an iron fist; drugs, gunrunning, and illegal fights are the main sources of money, not to speak of the legal businesses laundering the benefits. His father only cares about the profit this kind of boxing fight will provide for the organization and not the people involved. He shouldn’t care either, he doesn’t, but he gave his word and now he has to act like an asshole to get what his father wants.

“The fight stands as we agreed,” Hanzo says, his voice hoarse. “The only change is the opponent.”

After a pregnant pause, Ashe sighs. “I want a neutral referee,” she leans forward, her red eyes drowning into two black wells. She knows there’s no backing off from a deal with the yakuza and that this is a courtesy visit. “And my crew on his corner.” Hanzo nods. “No more surprises.”

“Fair enough.” His father will be pleased, and this has been easier than he expected. Except for getting yelled at which he isn’t very fond of. “If that’s all…”

“Hold your horses, I haven’t said yes yet,” Ashe snorts, “you want to pit him against...”

A grating noise interrupts her, both swiveling about to look at the office’s door. McCree shoulders his way in, mumbling a curse under his nose at the bodyguard already reaching for his gun. “What the hell, Jesse?” Ashe snarls.

“Who’s getting you riled up?” He could hear her shouting even while he was hitting the bag and throwing a few jabs until the meeting was over. But Reyes warned him about the business they were getting into in Hanamura: _ don’t trust the yakuza. Keep your eyes open, your mouth shut, and your fists ready. _

Hanzo shoots an icy glare at the two bodyguards unable to stop the man barging in, one sports a recently acquired bloody nose. “Wait for me outside the building,” he commands, then his eyes sweep over a torso chiseled in heaven, covered by a veil of sweat and nothing else. His mouth goes dry at the sight of the ridges of swollen muscles; at six feet of a sinewy male who stares back at him unabashed with an almost smug -no, charming- smile stretching on his lips. His rugged good looks and those whiskey-colored eyes don’t match the idea he had of him, of a professional pugilist in general. He was just a name until today. “Jesse ‘Deadeye’ McCree,” Hanzo says in a raspy voice. The boxer his father wants.

His name on his lips sounds so good it prickles the little hairs at his nape. “I’m your Huckleberry.” And McCree almost loses his cue. Hanzo frowns as if the true meaning of the statement hadn’t reached him. He notices his hands wrapped in red while he indulges in another not-so-subtle sighting of his body until he meets his gaze.

The shameless ogling brings a grin to his lips. Hanzo Shimada needs no introduction. McCree knows all too well who Ashe was meeting and whom they were getting in bed with. Albeit he wasn’t aware of the foreign beauty he wouldn’t mind getting into another kind of bed with. They came here so he could live off the profits until his hair turns white, hopefully back in New Mexico restoring his parents’ ranch. But at the sight of the man wearing black and sporting a challenging, resting bitch face, he forgets his own retirement plans and probably his last name.

“You beat up my bodyguard.”

“Sorry ‘bout your guy,” McCree shrugs, tapping the door closed with his heel and rounding the desk to lean on the side. “He was in my way, collateral damage.” He winks, but Hanzo’s countenance moves not an inch. From the corner of his eye, he spots Ashe rolling her eyes until she sees stars. “What’s going on? Is the deal off or somethin’?” She parts his lips to bark at him when Hanzo interrupts her.

“I hope not.”

The heir of the Shimada empire, the most notorious and dangerous yakuza in Hanamura after the king. McCree cannot hide the nonchalant smile on his lips. He was expecting someone different, perhaps an old guy or a young, spoiled brat who thought he’d play as a boxing sponsor this week to please the big bug. But Hanzo has turned out to be something awfully tempting. 

Like a moth to the light, McCree tries to learn by heart every ruthless detail of his thick, black eyebrows, the sharpness of his jaw, the perfectly trimmed goatee that rims his face or the depth of his unrevealing eyes. He stares at him as he would at a long glass of icy water on a hot day. Only God knows it’s been too long since his stomach curled nice and warm at the sight of such a prize. He’s right up his alley and yet he’s aware he cannot even dream to touch a creature like him; that is if he wants to keep his fingers attached to his body.

Ashe interrupts his daydreaming and his blank stare with the honeyed accent of her voice. “Now that you’ve come up here to stick your nose in _ my _ business.” McCree refrains from rolling his eyes, he knows Ashe is all bark and no bite. “They want you to fight a higher weight.”

“Fine.” He graces her with an unruffled shrug. “What else?”

“McCree!!” She chides, realizing this is the reason she takes care of the negotiations and he does the fighting. 

The cowboy is desperate for a good fight after the loss that brought them to the other side of the globe. Fighting here seemed to sway the grumpy moods and the self-loathing away, and even Gabriel managed to draw from him one or two smiles while training. Everyone knows once they are back home, there will be no more fighting.

“What? It’s fine, it can’t be that bad.”

“I will take my leave then,” Hanzo says, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a smirk.

“I’m calling this out,” Ashe snaps. “Find another punching bag.”

Hanzo swivels about, his hands in his pockets, his eyebrows knitting as if he couldn’t be bothered anymore. “You know better than to back off from this deal.” The truth settles like a lump in her throat. She knows, and yet Hanzo can’t escape her red glare. Things in Hanamura don’t work as they do back home. “I’ll double what we agreed upon.”

“Well, how ‘bout that,” McCree chuckles.

“For your trouble.”

Ashe stares at him; it sounds too good to be true. A pregnant silence grows uncomfortable until McCree nudges her and they lock eyes. A fool. She sighs. “Fine,” she says, nodding to Hanzo. “No more surprises.”

“Glad to make business with ya’,” McCree says, stretching his arm, his hand hidden under a sweaty hand wrap. Hanzo eyes it, the smirk coming back to his lips while he turns about and heads toward the door, ignoring the offer. One of the bodyguards is waiting for him outside and it irks him. He should be waiting outside as he ordered and not here eavesdropping for his father. “What? Don’t I get a handshake?” McCree says, his gaze roaming down the length of his spine and the subtle -and promising- curve of his ass underneath the suit.

Hanzo glances at him over his shoulder, catching him red-handed. “Use your hands for what you’ve been paid for, you’ve proven to be quite expensive so far.”

“If only you knew…” McCree quips, winking at him even though he knows Ashe will reprimand him later. When those ungentle eyes turn away from him, he watches him leave through the door as unhurriedly as a smile stretches on his lips. No, Hanzo Shimada is not what he expected at all. Then Ashe punches him right on his arm, and he complains out of habit.

“Are you out of your mind?” She hits him again as if she could infuse some sense in him.

“Stop it, it wouldn’t be the first time I fight a big guy.”

“We came here so we can get you out of the ring making a handsome profit, not to risk your sorry ass.”

“_Double the price_,” he drawls, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

“Did you lose your head for the money or for a pretty ass?” Ashe glances up at him, seeing a spark behind his eyes she hadn’t seen since the last boyfriend showed up only to disappear two months later. The cowboy didn't take it so well, and she lost count of the nights they drowned their sorrows at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey. When he falls, he falls hard.

“It is a pretty ass, ain’t it?” he jests. “The guy's a bit serious, but I can steal a smile after a few drinks.”

“Jesse,” Ashe sighs. She hopes he’s joking about getting in Hanzo’s pants since that won’t end up well if it even starts at all. It could jeopardize their future here.

“It’s just a fight, nothin’ new. I’m square tough, baby.”

“Well then, congratulations, dumbass,” she says. “You’re fighting Akande Ogundimu. Again.”

“Doomfist?” McCree has fought as a heavyweight in the past. With the proper training, he could put on weight and build muscle to fit the catchweight, but for the past five years, he’s been fighting as a light heavyweight. He’s in shape, but it will be tough. “Do what I say and this’ll go nice n’ smooth, you said,” he jeers.

“I was trying to get you out.” Her eyes never leave his face, he sports not a single worry painted on it, a three days stubble growing haphazardly out of control.

“Yeah, we’ll tell ‘em we want out, that we’ll give back the first payment in full. I bet the yakuza are nice and understanding people.” His jokes used to make her laugh, but a lazy smile is the only thing she can muster. “This is the last one, Lizzy.”

“For real?” Was she ever a believer? Ashe takes his hand, the one hanging off her shoulder and McCree meets her eyes with a carefree grin.

They’ve been family since they were seventeen, getting their asses into trouble more often than not. She had been alone until she met the troublemaker Jesse McCree, and when she was able to, she squandered her family’s fortune in whatever business caught her interest. The money never seemed to diminish.

McCree got into brawls and fights for pleasure until he knocked out a guy at a bar with a perfectly executed uppercut. That’s how they met Gabriel Reyes who witnessed the incident. _ I could work with that,_ _kid, _ he said. Then Mexico, more fights, McCree seemed to love boxing more than the desert, and Ashe met _her _and never minded spending her days fooling around Castillo as long as Olivia would follow her closely. 

It was fun for a while, a while that turned into five or so years way too soon. It was exciting, new, traveling from one place to another, getting ready for the next fight, higher bets, better opponents. They were like a family for a while; a while that lasted too little. The adrenaline of the fights, the injuries, the pain, the long-term damage nothing would heal. It scared her as nothing had. That one last fight McCree lost put him in bed for a month and took him another nine to fully recover. The wake-up call they needed.

Then the happy times seemed a century ago, they’re both tired and feeling old news. But McCree couldn’t retire with the bittersweet taste of defeat in his mouth. He knows why he lost the fight; he didn’t listen to Gabe, he caroused well into the night, and he woke up with the worst hangover of his life and a broken heart. McCree gave his hard work for granted and after twelve rounds of pain, blood, and tears, his opponent knocked him out. He couldn’t stand up, no matter how hard he tried. He lost his self-confidence and the title on the ring.

It was Gabriel’s idea to move to Hanamura for a change of scenery. Besides leaving her back in Mexico, Ashe didn’t think much of it when he saw a spark in McCree’s eyes again after a rough year. They’ll be back once this deal with the Shimadas is over; richer, happier, freer than they left.

“For real,” McCree promises.

Ashe holds his gaze and believes him. “You tell Gabe ‘bout this.”

“Hey, Lizzy, c’mon…”

“I dealt with that asshole, now you tell Gabe what you got into.” If Reyes ends up killing Jesse because of this, she’s next.

“Well, sweetheart, next time I deal with the pretty thing on my own.” McCree should be worried about the incoming fight, but in his mind, there are only that smile, those deep eyes, and that subtle smirk he wants to turn into a shy smile. He has always been fond of lost battles.

“I don’t think we’ll see him again,” Ashe retorts, knowing exactly what goes through his mind.

Feigning a heartache, McCree releases her from his hold and clutches a hand against his heart. “You hurt me.”

“He ain’t like us,” Ashe quips, arching an eyebrow at him while her lips stretch in a wolfish grin. “That bastard won’t let you touch him, he’s got a stick up his ass.” McCree chuckles, opening his big mouth to fuel their ongoing bickering when a familiar voice interrupts them.

“What happened?” Gabriel’s deep, raspy voice sends a frisson through their spines. Good old’ Gabe knew how to deal with them in their early twenties. When they needed him, he was there, not only to keep him in shape or hold the pads but also to be the voice of reason when needed. From the moment he became his trainer, he called the shots in the boxing business and taught Ashe everything she knows. He leans on the threshold, squinting his eyes at them, his eyebrows knit in a furrow, covered by a black beany. Somehow, just looking at their faces, he knows they’re in big trouble. “And who’s the bastard?”

The realization that he’s been listening for that long sinks in.

“It’s her fault!”

“It’s his fault!”


	2. Below the Belt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A punch that strays low, below the waistband of a boxer’s trunks.

The place smells of sweat and blood, the cheering of the crowd coming in muffled by the endless hallways of the venue. It churns McCree’s stomach with the usual nerves before a fight. He’s on edge, ready to jump off his seat and climb through the ropes. It’s not the first time, but he has a hunch that tells him this is the last; he wants it to be the last. Whether for better or worse, he doesn’t know.

He could keep fighting for a few years, try to win the American title back, climb the ranks, keep himself at the top. But he’s tired. Life is so much more than beating some guy in between four corners. He made a living off boxing thanks to Gabe and Ashe and has a sweet amount of savings when he was set to be a good-for-nothing. After his parents died, he barely could keep up with the ranch on his own. It’s been fun, and tough, and he’s ready to move on.

Tonight’s bout was supposed to be a sure thing and not this challenging, but he could never turn down a good fight. If he wins someone like Doomfist again, he’ll redeem himself for the pitiful loss against a nameless fighter that made him lose the title. “Too tight?” Gabriel’s voice brings him back to the locker room. McCree stares at his black, boxing gloves and clenches his fists tightly inside them.

“Just how I like ‘em,” he drawls, a shy smile finding his way to his lips despite his inner turmoil.

“Remember the plan.” McCree nods. “He has the reach on you, but you’re faster and I know how hard you can hit.” Gabriel knows what to say to keep McCree grounded before a fight, to keep him in the right mindset and his insecurities at bay. That’s another thing a trainer does and that he realized McCree needed the most.

“Worried ‘bout me, old man?” McCree chuckles. Gabriel grunts as he stands up and grabs the pads. He lifts both hands at him as an invitation.

“Show me.” In an over-rehearsed sequence, McCree finds the pads with his gloves. Left uppercut, left up top, combination. “Keep your right up, watch your feet. Doomfist will want you to leave your flank open too, kid.”

It’s been a couple of rough days. He’s been training for a different fight, so they’ve been studying Akande until he dreamed of the fight, the boxing ring, and a blood-thirsty contender. Surprisingly, the face in his dreams didn’t belong to his old opponent but Hanzo’s. He woke up sweaty, chest heaving, unable to understand why would his mind betray him with such a dream. They never exchanged any blows, they just prowled around the ring and stalked each other while he was enthralled by the beauty in front of him. Seeing him again is an itch he urges scratching, but how to contact him? His stomach curls when he realizes he’ll be watching tonight, but he pushes those thoughts aside. If Gabe notices him distracted, he’ll scold him or worse, call the fight out. It’s a waste of time; Hanzo is out of his league.

“You beat him up once, you can do it twice,” Gabriel says with a reassuring nod.

Three years ago, when Akande wasn’t known as Doomfist yet and they were both light heavyweight boxers, McCree fought him at the peak of his career. He won. The only loss marring Akande’s statistics is because of him. A knockout that hurt his pride more than anything. He was young, believed himself good enough to challenge the champion, and lost.

It wasn’t an easy fight. McCree struggled with the strength of his punches, with the perilous countenance that stared back at him scarier than any nightmare. Akande left no room for mistake, but after twelve rounds of pain, sweat, and blood, McCree sneaked a mean hook that won him the fight by a clean knockout. The ring will feel small when he’s trapped there with him again, but Akande will be trapped there too even though McCree is nowhere close to the same shape he was when they first fought.

Doomfist is no fresh meat anymore. He fights as a heavyweight now and is at the peak of his career. Why would he accept to fight him now is probably a matter of pride. With McCree out of the boxing scene back in the States, Akande climbed the ranks fast and challenged him again, but Gabriel refused the fight. There was nothing in there for them except fulfilling Akande’s wish for revenge. McCree was in rough shape; the recent loss had taken him aback; he was hurt from the inside out and the last thing he needed then was to fight an athirst boxer.

It hurt his pride, but it was the right call, and after they moved to Hanamura, he forgot all about it. Here, the boxing scene isn’t so big and fights move more for money and bets than championships. The dream for a fighter like McCree with no intention to pursue any title but with enough steam to put up a good show. There’s nothing in here for Akande though, and yet this is happening.

The sequence of punches stops when his thoughts do. “Hey, Gabe,” McCree murmurs as if they weren’t alone in a gloomy, empty locker room. “Do you think Doomfist arranged this just to fight me?” All McCree did was to win a tough fight, but he understands what means to lose a fight you want to win badly; he has gone through it himself. That’s enough fuel to chase him here for a chance to pit against him.

“Hm.” Gabriel takes a deep intake of air and lets it out slowly through his nostrils. “Maybe,” he mumbles. “The couple of fights you’ve won here were much talked-about.” He gets rid of the pads and meets his eyes. While he drowned his worries in whiskey last night, the same idea crossed his mind. “If it happened to reach his ears and there’s enough bad blood to want the fight… I’d say a pretty sum of money can buy a favor from the yakuza.”

“They set us up,” McCree scoffs wryly. “You think Hanzo knew and pretended this to be a last-minute decision?”

“More like his dad, I doubt he calls the shots here.” Gabriel shrugs. “Does it matter?”

“Not really, I’m fighting him anyway.” If this is the last one, he better makes it count.

Gabriel checks the ties on his gloves one last time out of habit like if he doesn’t, he’ll keep thinking about it. He’ll miss this, these moments together previous to a fight when they’re alone and the adrenaline rushes through their veins and clenches his stomach. This is the moment the training and the pain pay off, the long runs, the sore muscles. Whether he wins, or he loses, he’s ready to climb up that ring and give his everything.

“I heard he’s paying you double…” To Gabriel, this isn’t some kind of compensation, this shows how badly they want McCree on the ring tonight; as valuable as to pay out a lot of money.

“Yeah.” McCree swallows thickly. “Weird, huh?”

“We were fucked the moment Ashe got in bed with them,” Gabriel mutters. “Forget about it and remember the plan.” Distracting McCree before the fight isn’t in their best interest, so back to the boxing. “Throw your left under the radar and try to find an opening for a shovel hook. If you land it right on his chin, then he’s at your mercy.”

“It ain’t that easy,” McCree chuckles. “He’ll be expecting that.”

“It won’t be easy, it’s going to be fucking painful, kid.” Gabriel hugs his broad shoulders and squeezes. He’s tense, but he’ll loosen up once he’s up there, he always does. It’s like something clicks in his brain. “But you can take it,” he promises, “keep your eyes open, make it happen.” McCree nods. “You just look for that opening, make him forget his target and he’ll fight for yours.”

“I’ll hit him hard.”

“You could wear him out like last time, but we both know this will end in a knockout,” Gabriel whispers as if he could see the outcome in his mind when in reality his heart thumps faster than it should. He’s worried. They weren’t prepared for this fight. They’ve been disconnected from Akande and what he found out researching online was devastating. The guy has gotten bigger, faster, deadlier, and maybe his bloodthirsty intentions are the only thing in McCree’s favor tonight. That and the gift he has: a left hand that throws uppercuts and hooks as if he was born to do it.

“He wants you biting the dust and regretting being born,” Gabriel says, a hint of smugness on his words. “It’s either you or him.” Jesse nods, he doesn’t want to disappoint him again, and whatever fear churned his stomach is long gone. “I’m proud of you, kid,” the corner of his mouth tugs upward, “no matter what, do you best, get up there because you want to, and remember why you’re fighting for, okay?” 

The fight will start any minute now, and he wants to say more than he usually does; more than a pat on his back and a promise for a celebration whiskey later on. He wants him to know how good he is, how far he’s come, how free he is to choose to be up in the ring or down again with no regrets over his shoulders. He hopes this rounds full circle to a new beginning.

“One last time and I’ll retire you,” McCree jeers, and Gabriel breaks into a chuckle. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, I’ll be fine.” Before Gabriel can answer to that blatant lie, the double doors of the locker room swing open and Hanzo comes in unannounced and bracketed by two bodyguards. As though he needed to ask for permission when his family probably owns the place and half the people in it.

McCree turns to get a better look at him while Hanzo prowls his way inside. The hair that was loose over his shoulders the last time they saw each other is gathered back in a low ponytail, an unruly strand of hair framing his face. Under the dim lights, his suit seems black again, his countenance cold-blooded and distant. Part of him wants to run to get away from that man while the other is drawn to him as if he knew nothing of the heartache that comes afterward.

“I’m more worried about that one,” Gabriel mutters, and McCree nudges him while stifling a smile.

“A word?” Hanzo says. A pair of dark voids pin him in place. He lifts his hand and the two men leave the room at once. He glances briefly at Gabriel. “Alone?”

Gabriel sighs, but McCree nudges him again. “Yeah, sure,” he says. “See ya’ in a bit.” The old man shakes his head and walks outside, halting to take a sidelong glance to Hanzo. This man is double trouble: a yakuza and the right kind of pretty McCree is weak for.

The bodyguards close the doors with a thud and McCree feels the heady atmosphere of the place getting to him. Hanzo saunters his way toward him as if they had all the time in the world. “Do you mind?” His hand sneaks into the inner pocket of his jacket and comes out with a pack of cigarettes. McCree nods, bedazzled by the way he tugs a smoke out with his lips, a golden lighter casting weirdly shaped shadows on his face. A white cloud billows in between them after the first drag.

“I ain’t running away,” McCree jokes, heavy gloved hands at both sides of his body. Because of how Hanzo’s eyes roam shamelessly over his bared torso, his lips curl in a sly smile. Ashe always says his handsomeness was his curse, that it attracted the wrong guys, the guys that don’t call, that leave the morning after or get tired way too soon. She labeled him as a hopeless romantic with bad luck, and McCree never had arguments against it. “What brings you down here?” But when has he ever listened to Ashe’s romantic advice?

“Checking on my money,” Hanzo retorts, taking another long drag and finally meeting the boxer’s eyes. He would spend hours studying the perfect ridges of his body and never tire; and being who he is, he cares nothing about the obviousness of his ogling.

“I can see that,” McCree chuckles. “Well, you splurged on my pay.”

“Make it count.”

“Is your money on me or the big guy?” A wolfish grin bares two rows of white teeth, but it doesn’t have the effect he hoped.

“I didn’t come here to make small talk,” Hanzo inhales the smoke as if he was still considering why is he here or if he should at all, but the words blurt out of him in a mixture of white smoke and bitterness. “I came to warn you.” _ And to see you again_, he confesses to himself. When his father keeps him in the dark about something and makes him follow a simple command, it pisses him off. At his age, Hanzo is perfectly capable of handling most of the Shimada family legal businesses and he aches for more, but his father refuses to hand power over.

“Warn me?” McCree’s smile falters for a moment.

“I just found out it was Akinjide Adeyemi who talked my father into arranging this particular bout.”

McCree lets out a wry chuckle. “Sometimes I hate being right,” he mutters.

Hanzo narrows his eyes at him. “His trainer paid a lot to get him in a ring with you, be careful,” he says. No matter who wins tonight, his father has already made a sweet profit out of this fight, not to speak the arena is full, betting money on the side. Suddenly, a thick glove taps his forearm, half the ashes of the cigarette scattering unceremoniously on the dubiously spotless floor.

“Gimme a drag,” McCree whispers.

He’s not used to following orders nor requests, and yet his hand moves toward his lips to satisfy him. An unexpected pleasure tightens his groin, the smoke wiggling subtly in between his fore and middle finger. A soft, warm breath caresses them briefly while McCree purses his lips and eases his nerves with a dose of nicotine. Hanzo stares at him, cocking his head to the side while he meets gentle eyes that seem not to hold any grudge behind. If his hands were free, would he have touched his wrist or take the cigarette? 

While looking at himself in the mirror, Hanzo imagines that anyone would see the troublesome life he lives, but this fool just smiles as the smoke leaves his lungs, linking his arm with leather to steal yet another quick one before he lets go.

Hanzo swallows before he speaks. “I thought this piece of information could be useful,” he says, his lips finding the cigarette slightly damp, the tip of his tongue tracing the filter once. One last drag before he discards the cig and puts it out with the tip of his foot. “Although I do not know why someone would go through this ordeal to fight you. My father grants requests sparsely.”

“I won.” McCree lets out the smoke slowly and coughs. He quit smoking a long time ago, but once a smoker… he licks his dried-up lips, feeling the oh-so-missed burn in his throat. “I knocked him out three years ago,” he shrugs, “That loss put his promising career on hold.”

“Hm.” The corner of his mouth pulls upward inadvertently. McCree wishes it had been a full-on smile.

“Don’t get me wrong, it was a tough fight, but it was the kind of fight that gets under your skin.”

“That would explain why the bets are in your favor,” Hanzo murmurs.

“You bet on me, darlin’?” McCree drawls, the adrenaline of the incoming fight making him forget his manners. The endearment could cost him a finger, and yet the subtle pink tingeing Hanzo’s cheeks widens his smile.

It’s gone too fast. “Does it matter? I know nothing about boxing.” Hanzo averts his gaze, urging to get out of this asphyxiating room and those whiskey-colored eyes that seem to bare his soul in the open albeit he knows it’s impossible. No one ever could, among all the people he has known in his almost thirty years old, not a single one of them interested him for too long, but this man has been in his mind since he saw him two days ago. “I should…” he clears his throat, motioning to the door when McCree closes the distance between them.

“I want one more thing,” he says, a smirk stretching on his lips, an unusual darkness veiling his eyes, or perhaps is the lack of light here.

“Isn’t it too late for negotiations?” Hanzo won’t budge, not after offering a good deal he hopes to retrieve when McCree wins the fight and his bet on him pays off.

“I could back off last minute,” he teases.

“You’d lose a lot of money and piss the wrong people off.” Hanzo arches a questioning eyebrow at him. “What do you want?”

“So, if I lose, I still get paid just for fightin’.” Hanzo narrows his eyes but nods while McCree gets even closer, towering over him. Until now, he hadn’t realized how big and imposing he seems close distance, but somehow fear is the last thing crossing his mind. “I’m guessing your father doesn’t want me running away from this if Akande paid to fight me.”

“Cut to the chase.” Hanzo glances up at him to avoid staring at that pair of strong arms and broad shoulders. The ruthlessness of his words matched by the darkness of his eyes, anything that conceals the fact this man makes him think of tumbled sheets, sore muscles, and weak knees.

“It’s too boring,” McCree whispers nice and low as if the next words coming out of his mouth were as forbidden as half the deals being shaken off tonight. A half-smile tugs at the corner of his lips before Hanzo has the air knocked out of him. “I want a night with you, darlin’.”

When the words sink in, Hanzo laughs bitterly, but then he stops, flooded by that sultry smile and honeyed words. “You are serious.”

“Damn serious.” McCree clicks his tongue, close enough to feel the warmth of his body, far enough so he doesn’t touch what he’s not allowed to.

“Do you know who I am? What I could do to you?” Hanzo feels his cheeks flare in red against the fairness of his skin. The grin on McCree’s face infuriates him.

“Honey, if I get started on what you could do to me… we may not get out of here.”

“How dare you, Jesse McCree?” Hanzo grabs his chin firmly, the stubble scratching his skin, but the wolfish grin never leaves his lips, eyes brimming with smugness.

“I may not know ya’ yet, darlin’,” McCree whispers, not at all worried about the angry man in front of him or the pair of bodyguards that wait outside and could impair him for the fight. “But I can tell you’re considering it.” Hanzo swallows a lump in his throat, his thumb tracing the rim of his jaw before he lets go of his face.

“You’re not my type,” Hanzo hisses, his eyebrows knitting together while his legs struggle to keep himself upright.

“I’m right up your alley, sweetheart.” McCree shrugs insouciantly.

Hanzo turns around, but merely two steps toward the door he halts. It’s not like he doesn’t get these kinds of proposals on a daily basis. His bed would be as busy as Genji’s if he wasn’t so picky about who he loses his time with. Sex is just sex, a transaction for most people who end up in his bed for a night or two. He’s bored to the core of tamed lovers, of fear and respect, and this man just served his favorite dish on a silver lining.

Inappropriate, unexpected. Hanzo swivels about to face him. Unadulterated and paid of himself despite the position he’s currently in. Hanzo is shaken and flustered as a teenager and he hates himself for it. Since he grasped the true meaning of his offering, his mind rambles at the possibilities he has avoided thinking about for the past two days. Despite his best efforts, his cock is as hard as the night of the day they met. His head hit the pillow and the boxer’s smile appeared clear and loud to steal the reason from him. What if just this once he does something reckless? What if this time he ignores the voice that tells him to live bound to others’ rules and never meeting his father’s expectations? What if he’s exactly the guy that wants to get wrecked by a brawny boxer with a running mouth?

“What do you mean by a night with me?” His raspy voice breaks the pregnant silence.

McCree sways his way toward him without losing his smile. Even if he rejected his proposition, just witnessing Hanzo Shimada blush because of him was worth the try. Once they’re close enough, he leans forward, his lips barely brushing past his cheek to whisper against his ear. He won’t.

“I mean a night where we fuck to my heart’s content,” he drawls in a sweet, charming accent.

“Preposterous!” Hanzo mutters, his heart ready for a gallop. His hand clenches itself in a tight fist, and he pushes McCree away with it, knuckles against his chest.

“A little bet on the side that nobody needs to know about,” McCree says, chuckling softly while Hanzo’s cold hand spreads on his chest and sends a frisson through his spine. “If I win, you’re mine for the night.”

His lips press in a thin line. Is he actually considering…? “What makes you think a thug like you can get that close to me?”

“Am I not close already?” he whispers, sliding forward until their feet bump into each other. So close his breath carries a hint of the smoke they just shared. Hanzo’s stomach curls nice and warm at the proximity, at the endless possibilities or the raging disaster he could unleash, and yet he parts his lips and… someone knocks at the door.

“What the hell are ya’ doing there, Jesse?” Ashe’s voice suggests that as soon as Gabriel snitched on him, she hustled down here to save his sorry ass.

“Gimme a minute, damn it!” McCree says loud enough to be heard through the door. “What d’ya say?” he whispers to Hanzo.

“What if you lose? What’s the point of this?” Hanzo arches an eyebrow at him, a smirk finding his way to his lips, his hand refusing to lift off his heaving chest.

“Look at ya’ already rooting for me,” McCree jests, winking at him. “Just say you’re not interested, you’ll break my heart a lil but…”

“Why?”

“I have no reason to fight this guy,” he whispers. “I’m done and I wanna do more than bleed on a ring.” That’s probably the truer words he’s said to anybody in a very long time, even to himself, but when Hanzo meets his eyes with a heavy soul behind them, he feels he belongs. Perhaps this was a mistake, and he’s overstepping and playing with fire, but what if his hunch is right and this man with a lonesome air is exactly what he’s been looking for his whole life? A hopeless romantic, McCree’s lips curl upward. “I want a reason to win besides money, and I fancy your pretty ass…” He winks.

He knows he’s gambling, but he leans down and cocks his head to the side, unhurriedly, taking advantage of Hanzo’s sudden stillness. If only he could taste his lips at least once before he gets slapped or rejected. But Hanzo grasps his chin again. “Shameless,” he breathes out against his mouth, refusing to yield so easily. McCree wouldn’t like it any other way.

“McCreeeeeeee!!!”

“She’s gonna get madder the longer we’re here alone.” McCree wets his lips although he knows no kiss awaits him before the fight; perhaps later, oh god how he wishes more than a kiss awaits later.

“My money is on you, Deadeye,” Hanzo says, whatever flirtiness tinged his words or sparked his eyes is gone. “If you win, you’ll make me even richer.”

“Oh honey,” McCree drawls. “If I win, I’m doing so much more to you than that… do we have a deal?”

“One night?” McCree nods and then leans on the palm that has moved from his jaw to his cheek and cups his face too gently for an assassin.

“Til the sun comes up,” he promises.

Then it drops, its warmth lingering on his skin. The metal doors swinging open with a loud thud and they spring apart. Ashe comes in followed by Hanzo’s men. “I said no more surprises,” she barks, squinting her eyes at the scene in front of her. They’re too close, McCree has a dopey smile on his face and the yakuza glares at her as if she had interrupted something important. How fast can McCree get into trouble? Gabriel left them alone ten minutes ago.

McCree clicks his tongue in disappointment, his eyes meeting Hanzo’s. “Deal,” he says, turning on his heels as he walks past Ashe and outside the locker room.

“What was that about? What did I tell ya’ ‘bout makin’ deals with the yakuza?” Ashe chides, but McCree stares listlessly at the opened door, a grin on his face.

“Learned from the best,” he nudges her, and as if he had just remembered he has to fight in less than fifteen minutes, he starts warming up and throwing jabs and hooks into the air.

“Get your head straight!” She scoffs, a furrow between her eyebrows.

“Oh, Lizzy, I’m gonna win this,” McCree chuckles, the adrenaline of the imminent fight meshing with his dirty proposition. An unorthodox way to ask for a date, but as of now, he’s sure he can live the rest of his life on the memories of the night he has yet to spend with Hanzo Shimada.

If only he didn’t have to beat Doomfist first.


	3. Puncher's Chance

Cursing under his breath for his lack of restraint, Hanzo climbs the stairs to the luxury box followed by the two shadows that never leave his side when he’s not home. Did he just agree to spend a night with Jesse McCree? _ If he wins_, he reminds himself. The excitement of the bet has nothing to do with the money he’ll win back. He’s still in that locker room, feeling the alluring desire of someone else prickling his skin. The fool fooled him, and he cannot even regret it.

The loge is crowded by his father’s acquaintances even though Sojiro isn’t here. _ How unsurprising_, Hanzo wonders as he greets politely those who stand and bow their heads at him. He sends the bodyguards as far away as he can and takes a seat with a clear view of the boxing ring. The seats are too high to enjoy the fight if not for the humongous screens tracking the action.

A waiter approaches and serves him a whiskey; double, neat, no ice. His finger outlines the rim of the glass while he watches the contenders climb through the ropes and go to their respective corners after talking to the referee. The gravity or fighting a higher weight gets to Hanzo when he sees McCree and Akande standing in front of each other. He would never consider McCree small, in fact, he’s more than six feet tall of lean muscle and he needn’t see him fight to figure out his strength. But before Akande, he looks as if he could bend him in two if he wanted. Frowning, he takes a long sip; the liquid burning his way down his throat. His father truly has no qualms when doing business.

Hanzo feels a queasiness in his stomach that shouldn’t be there. He knows nothing about boxing except how the basic exchange of blows works. Despite McCree not fitting the catchweight, he is glad his father stuck to the legal side for this one, probably due to Akande’s sake and future career. An illegal fight would make him lose his title and retire him a few years earlier. Revenge isn’t worth that much.

The bell rings faster than he expected and both boxers dance around each other for a few seconds before Doomfist throws a jab to the jaw that McCree dodges easily, and then one to the gut that doubles him over. Hanzo winces in his seat at the ruthlessness of the punch and the quickness of his combination.

Hanzo never cared for money; bets are a child’s play for him, and money loses its meaning when you have more than you can count. The nerves, the bad hunch when McCree takes a blow or Doomfist moves around his advances; it’s all because of him. He never stopped to think about the men who get in a ring and fight their way out. It was just business; a spectacle for the wealthy, but tonight holds an entirely different meaning. Watching the fight is not as pleasant as the warmth that invaded him when they were talking in the locker room; the edge he thought the bet would add is just nerves churning his stomach. A life-threatening fight hovered over McCree because of his father and he didn’t even hold a grudge against him; he brushed it off like it was nothing. He even had the nerve to flirt with him. Hanzo stifles a chuckle at the thought.

The stage box is a mixture of shouts and cheering, especially when McCree slips out of Akande’s reach and throws one back at him from the side, or underneath, or straight to the face. Deadeye seems to find an opening in his attacks but his fists can’t hurt that muscled beast. He’s pulling his punches to keep the intensity light for now. But it must be like hitting a wall that can hit you back when you least expect it. The first round ends and they’ve broken a sweat which dries up Hanzo’s throat.

His heart thumps while McCree sits on his corner. There’s no trace of the wolfish grin he’s seen until now nor the gentle hue of his eyes. Worry knits his eyebrows together. Why would someone he barely knows elicit these emotions in him? Hanzo finishes his drink in one gulp and beckons the waiter for another. 

When his glass is full, the bell announces the second round and McCree springs out of his corner and stalks Doomfist against the ropes. He’s fast, and there’s a beauty in his movements that tightens his throat and curls the corners of his mouth upward. He feels every punch he lands, every hook he tries to sneak underneath an unnervingly well-defended right. Doomfist is familiar with his way of fighting and knows how to protect himself from a southpaw. He hits McCree with a right cross and sends him back against the ropes, although he’s smart enough to sneak out of there before Akande towers over him. 

The risk whenever Akande gets closer irks Hanzo who has no time to dwell on the consequences of his actions when he wants McCree out of that ring. Triumphant, unharmed, and most likely into his bed. When he feels his selfish-self, the queasiness eases only to come back in the next punch.

Hanzo digs his elbows on his knees, his hand hugging his chin. McCree takes another hard body punch and Akande uses the brief stunt to sneak a right hook that throws his head to the side and splits his eyebrow open. He curses under his nose when a trail of blood trickles down his cheek. “Who’s winning, anija?” The voice of his brother startles him, and he glances at him briefly and welcomes him to take a seat by his side while his eyes come back to McCree.

Genji sits, his ankle finding its way to his knee, a fancy drink already in his hand. He leans back with a smirk as he sips at the colorful liquid, his foot tapping the air while he scrutinizes his brother.

“What brings you here, Genji?” Hanzo mumbles, watching McCree fencing Doomfist off and throwing a few punches back at him. Bleeding and all, the man is beautiful when he fights. The way his muscles tighten and swell with his movements, fast feet dodging and gauging the rhythm of his fighting. The spectacle gives him goosebumps, and the thought of tracing that deadly weapon with wet lips curls his stomach nice and warm.

“Father wanted me here tonight.” He rolls his eyes and Hanzo lets out a wry chuckle. His father strangles his little brother with responsibilities he’s unable to fulfill and when not, he sends him to Hanzo. He doesn’t mind because he envies -and will protect- Genji’s freedom with all his being. He alone carries the heirdom of the Shimada empire over his shoulders while his brother fools around and squanders his trust fund in drugs, alcohol, and parties. “But since he’s not here… I might escape early.”

Not that he’d be able to carry on with that carefree lifestyle anyway, or spending ten hours in a boring office or succumbing to an endless night of parties as his brother does. Hanzo never dared to dream beyond what he’s been brought up to. Until two days ago. He met the boxer and something he has yet to grasp awakened in him. Something forbidden, but meant to be, distant but familiar as breathing, wrong but that feels so right his very soul trembles for more exchanges even if they’re just words. When they come out of him, they sound like so much more. Hanzo wonders if he’ll survive a night under him or if he’ll tie him up to his bed until he gets bored or tired. Probably neither, but first the fight.

Hanzo ignores Genji’s insouciant banter, eyes fixed on McCree as he delivers two mean jabs right on Akande’s left cheek before the bell ends the round. They’re both bleeding now, their respective cutmen trying to get them back in shape to keep going. The screens show McCree’s face twisting in pain when the guy pushes an enswell against his swollen temple. He exhales a deep sigh. “You never cared for this side of father’s business, now you do?” Genji arches an eyebrow at him and, at once, Hanzo leans back on his seat and reaches for his whiskey.

“Don’t be annoying.” Nerves rustle in his stomach and the last thing he needs is his brother meddling in. “I have a bet on this fight.” There’s no way in hell his little brother needs to know more than that.

“Since when do you care about money?” Genji teases, a soft chortle coming out of his mouth.

“I don’t.”

Genji runs his tongue across his teeth, a mischievous smile stretching on his lips at his brother’s sudden interest in boxing. He knew he’d find him up here, but more like brooding on the counter than sitting on the first row and unable to keep his eyes off of the screens.

“I heard you hired the American…” he says in a funny tune, “… for twice what you agreed at first.” His father wanted McCree fighting tonight and Hanzo did everything to please him.

“Hm.” He lets out a wry snort. Hanzo knows all too well the bodyguards his father hires work as hard to keep them safe as to inform Sojiro of their whereabouts and their every move. “How do you know about that?”

Genji lowers his voice. “I was at his office when your bodyguards briefed him in.” He shrugs and Hanzo groans. “That’s why I sleep with mine, so they don’t snitch on me,” Genji chuckles, “it makes them feel terribly guilty about it, and keeps them silent for a while or until I conveniently replace them.”

“I’d rather get rid of them altogether.”

Another round starts with the noisy bell and the stadium cheers up at the boxers hopping around each other for more blood. Hanzo realizes twelve rounds are too many, and he understands McCree’s insistence while trying to find an opening for a good sucker punch. He’s been close a couple of times, but either Akande wriggled out of his reach or endured the blow stoically. 

With a shoulder roll, McCree blocks a mean hook on the same left temple that’s already bruised and swollen but takes yet another hard body punch. Hanzo lets the air slowly out of his nostrils when he wants to scream at him to keep himself safe and cover his flank. That’s probably what his trainer is shouting from the corner until his face is red.

“Father’s concerned that we take over the family business too soon, don’t you think?” Genji whispers, his eyes perusing over the box while men who believe themselves powerful share drinks and shout at the fighters when they’re not talking business.

“We?” Hanzo arches an eyebrow at his brother, who laughs and winks at him.

“You’re not getting rid of me, anija, but the old man is regretting how well he taught you.”

“And yet you are his sparrow,” Hanzo hisses with more resentment toward his father than his brother.

“You’re even more ungovernable than me,” Genji praises. “I’m easy to control,” he admits, “take away the money or my freedom and… here I am, watching a boxing match I don’t give a shit about.” He finishes his drink, worried that his brother is a menace to his father the older he gets. Sojiro still hogs the support of lesser families that won’t follow Hanzo unless he’s the only Shimada alive, and more importantly: the Elder’s support. Genji is relieved he’s not in his shoes. “What moves you? Nobody knows.” Hanzo graces him with a half-smile, a clammy hand clinging to the warm glass in his hand.

“Is that a crime?” Apparently is, if it makes you look like you’re cold, without a weakness, and your father can’t control you anymore. Hanzo finishes the whiskey before he curses out loud. “Don’t anger father, that’s the last thing we need,” he rumbles low and raspy, signaling the waiter for a third round right when the bell stops the fight.

One day they’ll have for themselves the Hanamura empire his father built with the blood of other men and sadly, their own family. As teenagers, they promised to take care of each other and never let the same grudges or power-hungry desires that killed her mother seep in between them. If Hanzo trusts anyone in this world that’s Genji. When his father dies, he’ll take over the business; his allies have discreetly shown their support, and he has amassed loyal men to fight for him in case a war sprouts in the streets of Hanamura. But is that what he wants? 

He dreads the father that shows no love for him and keeps him under his wing more for fear than respect wants exactly that after his death. Pleasing him has no meaning to him anymore. He won’t have to worry about fitting the role Sojiro dictated for him since the day he was born. Hanzo Shimada; not the heir, the successor, the prince of the yakuza legacy of his family. He’ll be king, and yet that thought leaves a bittersweet taste in his mouth. Like a victory that means nothing, a gift he didn’t ask for, a gilded cage hidden behind the shadow of Sojiro Shimada until the rest of his days. A curse.

Hanzo leaves his rambling thoughts aside as he follows McCree’s movements, his gaze lost listlessly on the ring. Akande pressures him against the ropes taking advantage of his reach and his size, but McCree blocks him as if his life depended on it because it probably does. He’s hidden behind his pair of black boxing gloves and taking the beating of his life until he’s saved by the bell. The image of a punching bag comes to his mind and Hanzo clicks his tongue. How he wished to be free to choose what to do, who to do it with, where to live… Hanzo can almost taste the freedom on his lips and it’s as sweet and intoxicating as the smoke they shared. If he had let him, McCree would have stolen a kiss.

His stomach curls and his cock firms inside his trousers, answering to the call when he imagines their dried-up lips against each other. Wet tongues meeting for the first time in an unwelcoming locker room. His skin was scorching hot, his muscles hard and invitingly soft. His tongue wets his lips when he wonders what would feel like to thread his fingers in the back of his hair, to hold his nape tight while he devours his mouth hoping to find half the want he felt the first time McCree’s eyes roamed shamelessly over his black suited body.

No way he’d let that happen in a cold, gloomy locker room. Hanzo never signed up for kisses or that romantic bullshit that shrinks his heart and makes him aware of his loneliness. Just a night in which he gets fucked to oblivion. A night to taste, and bite, and feast on that young but seasoned body. _ I want a night with you, darling_. His words resound in his mind in that persuading accent that could make him do things he’d later be awfully ashamed albeit he’ll never regret them. His deal was tempting enough for a lonely soul who trusts no one.

“Anija!” Genji chides when he’s feeling ignored. “Tell me, have you met him?” He nudges him and points to the ring with his chin. Hanzo nods, a withheld smile on his lips. “Is he cute? What was his name again?”

“Jesse McCree.” His name caresses his lips and tightens his groin. Why is everything about him so devastatingly sexy or why is he so weak for him? Hanzo clicks his tongue when the next round starts.

“When I met Akande and saw the size of his hands, I knew exactly why they call him Doomfist,” Genji purrs. Hanzo shoots him an icy glare.

It was Genji who enlightened him about the real implications of the fight and Sojiro’s sudden interest in discarding the previous fighter to put Akande in his place. He saw his trainer dropping two briefcases full of cash on their father’s desk the day after Hanzo went to inform the Americans about the unexpected change of plans. If only Sojiro had trusted him, Hanzo wouldn’t be so aggravated with the whole situation. But soon, his little brother makes him forget about conspiracies.

“He’s so hunky all I could think about was if he’s as big everywhere else.”

“Genji!” Hanzo says in a gruff.

“I think I might find out,” Genji teases, “for science.” Hanzo ends up laughing at his brother’s brazenness before his attention goes back to the fight.

Even though they’re both faded, the contenders are putting up a fight. The show has the arena on fire. McCree’s left eye is almost closed, the bleeding barely contained, so the referee allows him to continue fighting. Something in his gut tells Hanzo his father wouldn’t stop this fight for minor injuries, and he grits his teeth at what he believes him capable of. The graciousness of both boxers merely seconds into the fight makes way for lazy punches, their movements not as fast as they try to distract the opponent. Akande’s left cheek is split too, a thin trail of blood trickling down his jaw. The fight’s nearly over; has to be, Hanzo wonders.

Doomfist stalks him along the ropes, pressuring him while McCree paws with his jab to gauge the distance between them. He’s trying to keep him at bay and failing. Akande strikes him with a perfect right-hand shot that knocks his head back and then works his abdomen while he’s cornered and disoriented against the ropes. This time, McCree has no chance to cover himself, and he takes the beating as well as he can. Hanzo leans forward, gripping his own knees, his chest rising and falling with his breathing. McCree hides behind huddled arms that must be as heavy as two bricks and endures the beating until the bell rings and the referee pulls them apart. If he had left an opening there, he would most likely result injured and the fight would be over.

“Calm down, anija, anyone would say you really care for the fight…” Genji mumbles, frowning at his brother while he reclines back on his seat. 

Hanzo exhales a deep sigh, his gaze fixed on the screens that show a grinning Akande and a truly defeated McCree. He sees the pain spreading on his face in the shape of bruises and bumps while he drinks from a straw his trainer holds for him. He spits blood in a bucket, a grimace of agony twisting his countenance when someone checks the bruise on his side. It’s a miracle if his ribs aren’t broken.

McCree nods at whatever the hell his trainer is yelling at him, but Hanzo can imagine. _ End this now. Find the opening you need. Make it happen_. He’s smart enough to realize this has to be the last round for better or for worse.

“… or you care for the fighter,” Genji snorts.

“Do not speak nonsense.” Hanzo downs his drink and feels the heady dizziness of the alcohol getting to him. He wonders what would have been of this fight if McCree had had time to prepare and train for Akande and not some random Hanamura fighter. Would he have buffed out in a month to match the heaviness of his opponent’s jabs? The mere thought constricts his throat. They rushed this in a couple of days and it shows. But Doomfist is worn out by the fight too, he’s slower as the time goes by and he seems not to hit as hard as before, but how long can McCree take this hell of pain and blood? He makes his punches count, but they’re not enough to overthrow him.

“I guess you’ve bet a pretty sum on that scruffy, cute American,” Genji hums.

“As if I cared about money anymore,” Hanzo scoffs.

“What’s in it that has you rattled?” Genji insists. Nobody knows what pulls Hanzo’s strings except for him. It’s only that his brother has a very special way of showing interest in others, and where most people fail to read him, Genji succeeds. “He’s quite handsome, although he’s taking a beating and he won’t be that handsome tomorrow,” he jokes.

“He’s not my type.”

“Nobody is your type,” Genji snorts wryly, “but he’s like nothing else you’ve ever been with.”

“Do not stick your nose in my love life,” Hanzo hisses, regretting his words a little too late.

“Is he part of your love life, anija?” he teases with a shit-eating grin, knowing he has hit an interesting topic when Hanzo groans and pinches the bridge of his nose. At least his secrets are safe with his little brother. “Can’t blame you, you must be tired of fucking the little birds father sends you in hopes you’ll marry…”

They share a knowing glance. Offers of arranged marriages have always been on the table, but Sojiro won’t force any of them until they’re thirty. If he can profit or strengthen alliances offering his offspring, he won’t hesitate. Hanzo’s twenty-nine though, his time is running out. 

“I am, that’s why I stopped long ago.”

“Send them my way,” Genji wiggles his eyebrows with a smirk on his lips, “and get on with the American, maybe he can ride you and shake off that stiffness you sport all the time.”

Hanzo chokes on the remnants of his fourth whiskey. “Genji!”

“I worry about you,” Genji chuckles. “It’s been ages since you ask me to hook you up with one of my friends.” He nudges him playfully.

Hanzo smirks. “The last one was too whiny,” he retorts. Genji stifles a laugh, hiding behind his drink as if he knew nothing about the last guy he sent Hanzo’s way. He knew his brother wouldn’t like him one bit; he never mentioned it until now. But before Hanzo can scold him for his teasing and the disaster date he arranged, the stadium breaks into a racket, the ringside standing in a roar. His gaze comes back to the ring in the blink of an eye.

He scrutinizes the screens only to witness how McCree takes a right hook on his already contused temple. He turns over himself and scrambles on the canvas. Akande motions to the neutral corner and lifts his gloves triumphantly as if he knew he won’t get up. The referee starts the countdown. _ One, two, three_. Hanzo stands, both his hands gripping the balustrade to the stage box with white-knuckle force.

The crowd can’t agree if to cheer for McCree or boo at Doomfist, but whatever they do, they do it so loudly Hanzo feels the pounding of his heart in his temples. _ Four, five, six. _ McCree is seemingly unconscious. He took the hit he couldn’t take, and he’s knocked out. The shouts and voices mesh together in an uncomfortable ringing noise.

“Get up, get up, get up, get up…” Hanzo mouths inaudibly. Akande’s panting, waiting for him to get up to lurch forward and finish the job. “Get up!” _ Seven, eight_.

The stadium gives a standing ovation and Hanzo sighs his worries away even though it lasts less than a heartbeat. McCree rises to his feet unaided, the referee probably asking him his name and his consent to continue the fight. Of course, the fool nods. He gets an eight-count in his corner, which angers Akande, the pain of continuing the fight painted all over his face. He’s in a hurry to wrap this up. Hanzo slumps back on his seat, reaching for an empty glass.

“How much did you bet on him you said?” Genji asks.

“I didn’t say.”

Is this just for a night together or does he really want him to get out of the ring victorious? Concern about his own mixed feelings makes him swallow a lump in his throat while he sips at an empty glass. Genji asks the waiter for another round of their drinks and passes on a whiskey to his brother when the bell rings again. Hanzo sips at it gratefully while he swallows alcohol and the bitter aftertaste of seeing McCree scrambled on the canvas.

Round six starts and McCree’s stance seems to shift ever so slightly. He moves faster, eluding Akande’s weary punches while he rounds him. His face is hidden behind two black gloves, his eyes focused on his target. Hanzo’s heart leaps at how close there are. Toe-to-toe, Akande has the advantage, he’s bigger, and if he lands another hook like the last one, he’s not so sure McCree can stand up for a week.

There’s no trace of those pulled punches he threw before; no coyness in his stance, no more holding back waiting for a good chance. McCree needs to make it happen before it’s the other way around, and that’s exactly his mindset after he sprung out of his corner and right into Doomfist’s reach. Hanzo’s heart thumps at the intensity of a fight that has slowed down but has gotten unnervingly interesting. The ringside roars when Akande lands a weak left cross into the air and McCree counter-attacks with a deadly sucker punch.

But Doomfist is far from giving up, stumbling and taking a few steps back before dodging McCree’s lunge and stopping him in his tracks with a mean punch to his ribs that almost lifts him into the air. “Fuck,” Hanzo curses, wheezing through his nostrils. McCree doubles over in pain, and Akande rewards him with a right uppercut and a left hook combination. But he’s unable to follow through and finish the job, disoriented and stomping all over the ring. McCree escapes by the skin of his teeth, shaking his head while his feet resume the back and forth bouncing. 

Hanzo wonders how can he still move like that, as if it required no effort. He has taken a beating against the ropes twice, he’s been punched hard by an eight feet tall beast with arms twice as big as his, and McCree is still on his feet, fending off his advances and keeping a calmness Hanzo cannot help but admire from the depths of his heart. The man has stamina for days.

By the time the round ends, McCree slumps on his corner hugging his side with his right arm and a grimace of pain tying his eyebrows together. The cutman stops the bleeding again with the cold, handy enswell while his trainer massages his shoulders and nods at him. _ Please, let this one be the last_, Hanzo trails in his thoughts. As soon as the bell rings, they’re both up and ready again. 

Hanzo reads Akande’s desperation in every punch he misses, in every single one he takes, but he also realizes how much McCree wants to be there, close enough to dodge those slow, lazy jabs, where his reach on him doesn’t matter and he can be more precise. They’re not even trading blows, he’s letting him get tired and sloppy while he drains time, making him move around the ring. His size is playing against him while McCree is as light as a feather, hurt and about to faint, but gauging his jabs to make them count. Doomfist spares them too lightly for none of them reach their target. McCree shoulders them off and punishes his midsection if he can, waiting and saving up his energy for the opening he needs. Those heavy arms won’t stay up for long.

The canvas seems light on his feet and so heavy on Akande’s. After a hook that tears through the air, Hanzo sees an open flank and smiles right before Jesse McCree happens. He sneaks a shovel hook with the right and hits him straight in the jaw. Akande stumbles a few steps back but has no time to recover when McCree finishes him with a left uppercut right on his undefended chin.

Confused and disoriented, Akande drops to his knees and slams face down on the canvas. But Hanzo’s eyes are fixed on McCree as he tries to stay upright on wobbly legs, his chest heaving. Droplets of blood trickle down his stubble and onto the ring at the tempo of the referee’s countdown. He did it, he won against all odds.

Albeit time seems to slow down, the countdown ends before Hanzo can realize it’s over. The stadium roars. The referee grabs his wrist and lifts his arm in the air. It’s over. The ring that had two men bleeding and sweating for the victory is crowded by their people, the trainers, and the medical team attending Akande who comes back to consciousness only to realize he has lost. McCree had to land one big shot when he was sure it would be effective; that was the plan all along. Hanzo smiles behind the rim of his glass, the sweet scent of whiskey caressing his nostrils as he sips at it as a subtle celebration; not that his knees would answer him now if he wanted to stand up. Jesse ‘Deadeye’ McCree truly has a weapon instead of a left arm.

“Look who’s a fan of boxing fights now, huh?” Genji jests, squeezing his brother’s knee.

Butterflies tumble in his stomach when the raunchy bet McCree offered sinks into his mind. _ I want a night with you, darling_. His face heats at the prospect, and a stupid fear of all of it being a joke churns his stomach. Or maybe it’s the five drinks he’s had so far.

Hanzo downs the last whiskey more for courage than thirst and stands, his legs faltering for a second before he fixes the lapels of his blazer. “Where are you going?” Genji glances up at him.

“To congratulate the winner,” Hanzo smirks.

“Oh, so you do have a thing for him.” Hanzo glares at Genji before he swivels about and heads to the locker room. It’ll take him a while to get there if he has to round the stadium to avoid the crowd. “Anija, wait!” Genji springs up and walks abreast of him. As soon as they reach the landing of the stairs, two pairs of bodyguards follow them silently. “I don’t want to miss this.” He smiles at Hanzo’s soft grunt of displeasing.

His face throbs in pain at the rhythm of his heart. Saying everything hurts like hell and he’d rather be unconscious right now would be an understatement. McCree sits on a bench of the locker room that still has a faint scent of cigarettes mixed with his own blood. He’s reclined on a locker, thanking the cold surface that numbs the muscles of his back.

Ashe holds a cooling pack against his left temple. His eye has bloomed in a swollen lump and will be most likely black in a couple of days. “You didn’t land a single uppercut all fight, cowboy,” she teases, a grin on her face because as bad as McCree looks right now, it’s nothing compared to the last time. And also, it _is _ the last time.

“I landed the one that mattered,” he says, his voice hoarse of those weary and ready to faint.

As soon as they got out of the ring and slowly made their way to the insides of the stadium, McCree buried his nose in her white, straight hair and told her it was the last. She believed him.

“You did well, kid,” Gabriel says, folding the hand wraps while scrutinizing McCree for more injuries. His hands tremble over his thighs, and they’ll keep him awake for a while longer before he’s safe to go to sleep.

“Ya’ look like you’ve been rode hard and put away wet,” Ashe mumbles, tousling up his sweaty hair so it doesn’t stick to his forehead. “He got you bad a couple of times.” McCree leans his head against her belly as if the gesture was the only thing he was capable of at the moment. She pats him gently, a withheld smile on her lips.

“We gotta stitch that one,” Gabriel mumbles, pressing a wet towel against his eyebrow despite McCree’s groan. It has stopped bleeding thanks to the balm he applied earlier. “Let’s get out of here and treat your wounds,” Gabriel helps him stand up, throwing a big, grey hoodie over his head and helping him out. “We need to put those hands on ice too.”

“I need a shower and a bed made of air to sleep on,” he jokes.

“We’ll celebrate tomorrow with a juicy steak and a bottle of the best poison I can find ‘round here,” Ashe croons. McCree chuckles, although he has another celebration in mind.

Perhaps Hanzo deliberately forgot about their agreement and they never see each other again. He has no number to call and claim his prize, and now the boldness of his actions creeps up his spine like a bad feeling. Hanzo isn’t any pretty guy that would climb to his bed at the first wink. He seemed interested enough, but who is he but a boxer from the other side of the world? Even beaten as he is, he’d go tomorrow night to wherever Hanzo tells him to; hell, if Hanzo came here right now, he’d follow him to his apartment like a dog tied to an invisible leash.

When they’re ready to go, Hanzo appears through the door. The bodyguards stay outside, a younger version of him in tight, black leather trousers and a tattered t-shirt leans against the opened door with a grin on his face. A brother? McCree guesses by the similarity in the shape of their eyebrows. His eyes spark with mischief, playful and free of burdens; a little brother. The cheerful banter halts, the noise of the stadium invading the locker room muffled by the concrete walls. McCree’s heart leaps, but a stupid smile stretches on his lips.

“Hanzo,” he breathes out while meeting his dark, deep eyes.

“Congratulations are in order,” Hanzo says, turning to Ashe. “Mrs. Caledonia, the payment has been sent out as agreed. No more surprises,” he smirks, handing her a business card.

She politely takes it, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “We’re out of business, this one anyhow.” She nudges McCree and by the grimace of pain on his face, she regrets it. A shine of sweat permeates his forehead, and she knows the moment they get in the car he’ll doze off until they get to their apartment.

“As _ pleasant _ doing business with you has been, this is my doctor’s card,” Hanzo says, not minding Genji’s not-so-subtle snorting at the back.

“Your doctor?” Ashe’s nostrils flare.

“Call her and she’ll be where you tell her in less than an hour,” Hanzo says, his eyes meeting McCree’s briefly. “Dr. Ziegler is the best.”

Before Ashe bursts into an anger fit, Gabriel presses a gentle hand on the small of her back. “Two minutes,” he grunts to McCree, “we’ll wait for you outside.” He could never deny him anything right after a fight. Besides pouting, Ashe sucked it up and left through the door with Gabriel, although they heard her cursing when she was out of sight. “Why is he all soft down on the first yakuza that swings his ass in front of his face?” Ashe snarls.

“You ain’t come to snatch me away?” McCree drawls. “I was kind of hoping ya’ did.” All his feigned courage vanishes when Hanzo gets closer, nestling his face in a cold hand. It does nothing for the pain but he leans into it, his stomach curling at the unexpected gesture.

“Out,” Hanzo hisses over his shoulder, and Genji leaves too, the door left ajar. His attention shifts to McCree who stares at him from above behind hooded lids with a sweet, languid smile that snitches how much he needs healing and rest. “Not tonight,” Hanzo whispers. His thumb traces his lower lip as they drown into each other’s eyes. Again, as if they weren’t in a smelly, locker room.

“You better call, honey,” McCree mumbles, bumping into Hanzo’s finger at every word. He wished he wasn’t so tired, so beaten up, because he would pin him to the nearest wall and steal the kiss of his life. Not with the taste of blood and iced water in his mouth. He knows better than that.

“Don’t get into any kind of danger in the meantime,” Hanzo quips, glaring at him although the withheld smile menacing to reach his lips betrays him. He lets go of his face unhurriedly, McCree reaching for his wrist with callous, bruised fingers, his thumb stroking the soft skin of the back of his hand. Lifting it against his lips, McCree kisses his palm with a smoking hot smile that turns Hanzo’s legs into jelly and his heart into mush.

“Don’t be a stranger.” Even though that’s exactly what they are.

“You’ll collect your _ payment _ in full,” Hanzo promises in a sultry, raspy whisper.

His cock perks up at the true meaning of those words, and the way his lips tug slightly upward as he turns his back at him. The unfamiliar scent he barely gets a glimpse of but already misses invades him like a heady drug. “Ya’ bet,” he blurts out in a tremble as Hanzo leaves him alone in the same locker room where mere hours ago, he took the gamble of his life. “Ya’ damn bet, I will,” he breathes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puncher's chance is a term used to describe the type of fighter, who although may be outclassed, still possesses the kind of knock out power to end a fight with one punch. He could clearly not outbox his opponent, but would always have a chance to win based on his power.
> 
> Enswell: This is an official name for a piece of metal or hard compress used to reduce swelling on a boxer’s face. ([1](https://www.titleboxing.com/boxing-dictionary))


	4. Blow-by-Blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blow-by-Blow is a detailed description used by broadcasters to describe the action as it unfolds in the ring.

A damn week went by until Hanzo called.

The first couple of days, McCree focused on sleeping, recovering, and healing, but then he kept looking at his phone more than usual, itching to know from him. Worst was Ashe’s teasing. Although her distrust simmered down when Dr. Ziegler proved to be efficient, quiet, and exactly what Hanzo said: the best, she still warned him about ending up with a broken heart.

The doctor came to visit twice. The night of the fight she attended to him for two hours, prescribed some painkillers and gave thorough instructions to Gabriel. Not even the old man could complain. She visited a couple of days after to check on him, but no news from Hanzo.

McCree was as recovered as he needed to claim his reward and yet he had to wait a whole week to get a cold, simple message on his phone. Somehow, he knew Hanzo Shimada needn’t ask for his phone number to get it. But it was impersonal enough to churn his stomach. McCree has always been caring, and loving and loves flirting, sexting, and all the perks of getting to know someone, but he bridled those teenage, stupid thoughts. He got an address and an hour and he just answered: _ it’s a date_.

Against Gabriel’s advice and Ashe’s scolding, he headed alone to the address Hanzo gave him. He was expecting a hotel room, but he arrived at an apartment building, and by the luxury of the surroundings he had no doubt this is where he lives and not a place he uses for booty calls; if that’s what this is. The thought eases his nerves; he knows nothing about him besides he’s the heir of the Shimada family, rich as fuck, more than Ashe which is considerable, and -his lips curl upward in a smile- he knows nothing about boxing, but cared enough to watch him fight.

The elevator chimes when it reaches the last floor. Of course, Hanzo lives on the last floor. A short hall gives way to a door left ajar. He guesses nobody comes up here if Hanzo doesn’t want to. A prickling sensation tickles his nape and distracts him, making him rub his neck. He knocks faintly, the heavy, armored door unmoving. “Howdy?” he croaks, pushing the door to peek inside.

McCree finds Hanzo walking toward him in a flimsy, black robe that dies at his knees; barefoot, loose hair around his shoulders, long cuff-sleeves draping down his arms. He sucks in a breath at the sight. “Please, come in,” Hanzo says, a smirk on his lips due to the dumbfounded expression on McCree’s face. “And close the door.”

It takes a few seconds for him to process the command, and a few more to take his eyes off of him to complete it. “I thought you had forgotten ‘bout our deal,” McCree jokes, keeping his hands on his pockets while his gaze peruses over the apartment.

The place is big and simple, a dim light warming up the room. The harmonic clean lines of the furniture and the few dark corners remind him of Hanzo. There’s a large window that opens up to a terrace that probably rims the flat. He’s sure he can admire the night lights of the city of Hanamura from above this tower and feel on top of the world.

“The doctor said you’d recover in a week.”

“You talked to my doctor?” McCree arches an eyebrow at him. 

Hanzo graces him with a knowing smile. He slides a thick glass of whiskey over a nearby table as he gets closer to him, and McCree notes the heat on his face. Ignoring his question, Hanzo gets close enough to run his finger over the buttons of his shirt. A red and black checkered flannel, tucked into snug, tight jeans.

McCree reminds himself he asked for no date but for a straightforward night of unrestrained sex and pushes the shy teenager conquering his stance to the back of his mind. He hasn’t even tasted his lips, and he’s already dreading the moment he leaves through that door. A smug grin bares his teeth as he starts over. “Night, darlin’,” he whispers. “I’m afraid I dressed up too formal.”

Hanzo lets out a faint snort. “Overdressed,” he breathes out. The scent of whiskey meshes with a musky aroma with notes of wood that must come from Hanzo’s skin. He inhales the sweet scent while he allows Hanzo to explore him with curious eyes.

“Ashe said you’d love it,” McCree shrugs. His cowboy attire doesn’t get quite so many stares back home although he’s glad he forgot the hat on the corner of his bed.

“I’m sure she did,” Hanzo retorts with a hint of smugness. He hooks a finger on his belt. McCree’s stomach tightens, the room in his jeans getting uncomfortably small. Then his eyebrows knit in a furrow. “Still bruised.” Hanzo lifts his hand to trace the outline of a faded bruise on his left temple, the tiny scar on his eyebrow still pink and recent. The doctor did a great job.

“‘S nothin’,” McCree chuckles. His hands are getting clammy in his pockets, and he takes them out and rubs the sides of his jeans. He’s paralyzed by his advances, his mind going a mile an hour, his cock answering to his mere presence. Hanzo’s knuckles brush gingerly his groin and his legs fail to ground him for a second. It wasn’t an accidental touch when he does it again, feeling the hard bulge over the thick, jean fabric. “You’re a tease,” McCree grunts.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Hanzo retorts, his fingers sneaking underneath the belt, his eyes brimming with lust. Looks like McCree hasn’t been the only one jerking off every night after getting into bed and every morning in the shower. That’s if what he reads in Hanzo’s demeanor is the same desire that coiled deep down on him since they last saw each other. 

“You seem tense…” There’s a funny tune in his voice, as if he was enjoying being in control.

“Yeah, I mean, no,” McCree babbles. 

Now that he has Hanzo in front of him and determined to get under his jeans as if he wasn’t already under his skin, McCree can’t decide what to do first. His heart thumps in his chest at every word left unsaid while he drowns into two pitch-black pools. He’s so willing as if waiting for him to get in charge. Perhaps that’s what he should do, to wrap his arms around him and taste the wonders of his mouth.

Hanzo isn’t fooling around, his fingers fidgeting with his belt, his lips still curved in a devilish grin. No dinner to get through, no way to learn more about him than the animalistic urges that his body language screams for both. They could share a drink but that’s not what he wants anymore even though he’s thirsty and his throat dry. McCree hopes he’s stark naked underneath that surely easily torn robe because he’s about to fall on his knees and beg for his cock. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “If you want to…” No way that’s what Hanzo wants, is it?

“Are you all bark and no bite?” Hanzo teases mean as a snake.

“Damn you,” he curses under his breath.

McCree leans down to kiss him but Hanzo squirms out of his mouth’s reach instead. He rounds his broad, muscular shoulders with an arm and tugs at his belt to bring him closer. Hanzo cocks his head and parts his mouth in an offering that makes McCree curse again. He decides when and how; his rules. _ Fine for me_.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, McCree rubs against him as if he knew no shame. He senses the heat of his skin through the silky fabric. His other hand traces the sinuous curve of his spine on his way up to his nape until he feels the dampness of his hair. The subtle scent isn’t so subtle anymore, and he breathes it in as if his life depended on it. He has taken a shower; he bets his skin is still blushed underneath the black silk.

If he leans down again to kiss him and he escapes his mouth, he might grab the back of his head and take what he’s entitled to. Hanzo gasps instead, open and willing. At the bittersweet taste of whiskey lingering on his lips, McCree lets out a shameful moan. He dips his tongue inside the wonders of his mouth in an open-mouthed kiss that steals the air from his lungs and the reason from his mind.

McCree tastes him with firmness, running his tongue down a plump, bottom lip, scratching his stubble with his goatee, rumbling in his chest like a purring kitten too happy to realize he’s making such noises. Now that he has started, he doubts he can stop. Not while Hanzo welcomes his tongue with sultry swipes of his own whenever they meet. He nibbles at his lip before he invades his mouth with a wet, greedy tongue that hasn’t had enough of him. Never will.

“Damn,” he pulls back with spit-licked lips to suck in a breath, his hands traveling down a sinful, lean body that will warm him tonight. _ Just one night_. The thought shrinks his heart but before the sorrow sinks, he looms over his mouth for another serving. Hanzo smirks, avoiding his mouth and tracing the outline of his jaw with the tip of his tongue. He loves the way his stubble scratches, but McCree groans in frustration and gropes for his buttocks.

He lifts him so effortlessly Hanzo’s heart skips a beat. One moment he’s in the air held by a pair of big, manly hands, the next they’re turning around until he’s sprawled on the dining table with six feet of angry male making room for himself between his thighs and devouring his mouth like he knew no other trade. Hanzo guesses this is what being against the ropes must feel, and chuckles from the back of his throat; it took him less than a minute to shrug the apparent shyness off McCree.

Hanzo hooks his arm around his neck for support, his upper body hanging in free fall while McCree presses his hands on the table at both sides of his frame and pushes forward for more. His body knows the dance they’ll be performing later on, but he’s getting no friction to satiate his whims. Hanzo smiles into the kiss while sneaking a hand in between them. He palms his groin, squeezes the big bulge that he guesses is his half-hard dick but he’s so wrong. McCree groans into his mouth at the touch.

Following a hard shaft that huddles on a side, he curses out loud. “Fuck,” Hanzo mumbles at the size of the beast contained in his jeans.

McCree grins, grinding against his hand while pressing their foreheads together. He wants to trap his already swollen lips into more breathless kisses, his eyes going back and forth to his lips, to the not-so-subtle blush on his cheeks, to the robe slacking open and revealing a patch of ink on his left pec. “This?” he says, his ragged breath betraying him. It gets hot too fast while they’re kissing. He’s even dizzy. “May I?” His fingers toy with the hem of his robe.

Hanzo shoulders off the robe on his left arm, revealing waves and twirls of an angry dragon that rounds his arm. McCree takes over. “I would like to unwrap you myself, thank ya’,” he drawls, patting his hand out of the way while he helps him pull his arm completely out.

Shades of blue, black and white ink intertwine together and cover every inch of skin from his pec, his shoulder, his biceps, and down to his wrist. He follows the traces of that beautiful piece of art with his fingertips, his lips slowly curling up in a smile. “Just this one?”

“For now,” Hanzo smirks, allowing McCree to inspect his tattoo to his heart’s content.

The robe hangs from his other shoulder and drapes around the laced belt. McCree notes Hanzo’s hard-on poking through the fabric and stifles a smile. They both can use the recess before they combust against each other. He didn’t make plans for the night, he promised to himself he’d roll with the situation and the mood, but he does know he will fuck Hanzo Shimada against every flat surface he finds including the wall until the sun rises to announce another day.

“Does it bite?” McCree jests while brushing his thumb over the head of the dragon.

“I do,” Hanzo retorts.

“Good, ‘cause I’m weak for love bites.” McCree grunts when Hanzo yanks him onward by the lapels of his shirt, his hot breath puffing against his neck before he bites softly there. Hanzo grits his teeth around a mouthful of his flesh, savoring the salty taste of sweat and feeling the thundering of his pulse point. He sucks and hums hoping to leave a bruise behind, pulling and biting until he elicits the same satisfying rumble that reverberated in McCree’s chest while they were kissing. “Is that all ya’ got?”

Hanzo wrings his flannel and gnaws on the same spot, clenching his teeth until the flesh yields and McCree whines. He mumbles a curse under his nose, moving his hands around his waist, pulling at the soft fabric of the robe while Hanzo spares kisses and bites equally ruthless than delectable. His forehead presses against his shoulder so he can nuzzle in the crook of his neck. He smells so good he wants to rub against him until his scent envelopes him whole.

“Bite me all you want, darlin’, I ain’t complaining,” McCree breathes out when he senses Hanzo swiping his tongue over the indentations of his teeth. Meanwhile, he unbuttons the shirt with feigned patience just enough to sneak both hands and feel the warmth of his chest, the soft touch of his body hair, and a pair of perked nipples that bump against his fingers. His muscles twitch under his palms, they’re hard and ready to snap. McCree removes his shirt and tosses it out of the way. He’ll be looking for it in the morning and finding it on his way out. A reminder that punches him in the gut. He notes Hanzo’s cock sticking out and McCree stifles a smile; such a beautiful, round tip already glistening and calling for his drooling mouth.

“Are you still hard, Jesse McCree?” Hanzo teases, fingers sneaking underneath his belt while his eyes rivet over his bare chest and the ridges of his muscles.

“You damn well know I am.” McCree scoffs a crooked smile, leaning down for soft pecks on velvety lips. Hanzo escapes them as if he was burned by fire and meets his eyes instead.

“My bedroom is at the end of the hall,” he whispers, looking dazed.

McCree thinks not much of it as he lifts him up against his body. Surprised, Hanzo gasps and clings to his neck. His hands find the bare skin of his butt cheeks, and McCree digs his fingers on tender flesh as he hugs Hanzo’s legs against his sides. His muscles swell and twitch by the effort, his skin scorching hot where they meet. Hanzo stares at the features of his face, the warmth of his eyes, the gentle wrinkles at the corners of his eyes because of a held smile he would want to erase with kisses. While McCree tries to find his way through a dimly illuminated hallway, Hanzo tightens his hold around his neck and falls for his mouth as he mumbles a curse.

A groan escapes him when his back hits a wall, and he opens his eyes a slit in the middle of the kiss to realize they’re still on their way there. “I said the end of the hall, McCree,” he mumbles, tasting those plump, eager lips that answered to his kiss with wild abandon.

“Pause for a kiss,” McCree quips. “And call me Jesse.”

_ Jesse._

McCree muffles the protest. He could kiss him in a thousand different ways and still need a thousand more nights. He wants to bite him all teeth and tongue, to stuff his mouth with his tongue until they both lack air and common sense, but he’s lost in the sweetness of his lips, in the barely inaudible grunts, the little whines that rumble in the back of his throat and goad him to deepen the kisses. As if every gentle kiss, every tender swipe of his tongue, and every mellow bite cracked up an invisible wall.

Anger seeps through his heart in a mixture of fear and feigned disinterest. Hanzo was hoping for a ruthless encounter, a hard, unrestrained fuck against the first flat surface McCree deemed fit. He was so ready to take it and feel the relief of want to abandon him finally. It’s been haunting him for days, eating him alive and torturing him with dreams of them where they never touched but he awakened hard and dripping. But now this catches him off-guard; his kisses are gauged to perfection, slow enough to turn him into a wanton, fast when they need to be to take control, unavoidable even when he needs to draw breath and he’s trapped by a pair of demanding lips dooming him to whine and moan into his mouth. His stomach curls nice and warm, and his cock jerks whenever it brushes that firm stomach.

Gentle, deep, soul-tearing and almost disgustingly romantic kisses.

McCree traces his lips with the tip of his tongue before he secures him in his never-tiring arms and resumes his way to the bedroom. “You taste forbidden, honey,” he whispers into his mouth, walking blindly. “The best I’ve ever tasted in my life,” he drawls, hoping not to sound like a cliché cowboy trying to woo his man on the first date. He grins at the thought.

Hanzo hits the light switch as they cross the doorstep to his room. He’s about to find out Jesse McCree fucks as intently as he fights. But apparently, not in the bed. McCree places him over a black, wooden dresser, taking a peek at his surroundings as soon as his lips lift from his. While he takes in whatever caught his eye, Hanzo maps his chest with both hands, unabashed of the greediness of his hands and the way his jaw drops in awe. Trained, lean body, with hard, perfect muscles, the right amount of fuzz tickling in between his fingers, the perfect warmth to match his cold nature. Those arms could kill a man and yet held him so tenderly. He swallows thickly and notices the robe isn’t fulfilling its purpose anymore. Hanzo slips to the floor from the waist-height dresser as if a sudden coyness had taken over him, uselessly hiding his shy cock underneath the thin garment.

The ample room smells just like him, a couple of armchairs facing the terrace, a bed big enough for five if needed. What he guesses is his dressing room and a bathroom on the opposite side of the room. But what really interested him is the pair of katanas hanging from the wall in an open expositor. McCree glimpsed a shine through the corner of his eye and couldn’t help find the source. He suspects they were more than mere decoration once and hold a special value for Hanzo. Stepping into his life, his home, his bedroom; every tidbit he learns about him overwhelms him.

“The one from above is mine, the other is Genji’s,” Hanzo says when he realizes what he’s staring at.

“Your little brother?” Hanzo nods with a hum, and suddenly McCree’s attention and eyes are on him, disapproving of the tidiness of attire. “Can I do all I want to you?”

A weight lifts off his shoulders, pleased that they’re not having a conversation about the twin katanas. They were gifts from their father but came with so much dread to their lives. “If you do something I don’t like, you’ll know,” Hanzo retorts.

“Why do I fear a sword will suddenly be against my neck when ya’ say that?” McCree jests. Leaning for another kiss, his hands travel up his thighs and underneath his robe to cup a pair of perfectly round cheeks. But his lips barely brush Hanzo’s before he speaks.

“Are we going to fuck?” Hanzo blurts out, trembling at the pair of palms keeping his backside warm.

“That’s the plan, ya’ getting impatient?” McCree traps his mouth and hums at the touch of his lips.

“What’s with all the kissing?” Hanzo breathes out the words into his mouth.

“I only got a night with ya’, I ain’t wasting it _ just fucking,_” McCree grunts, squeezing his butt while the silk caresses the back of his hands. “and you taste so damn good, darlin’.”

Those relentless hands along with a hot mouth stealing his breath and a firm cock against his body make Hanzo forget the grumpy complaint about the kisses. Truth is, he loves every single one of them and aches to feel his mouth everywhere on him, especially sealing his lips. But the sensation is so foreign he fears to get used to something he’ll later miss.

Hanzo can’t remember the last time he’s been kissed like this if he ever has. McCree tastes like a butterscotch bourbon, his lips dragging a honeyed drawl as easily as he translates his own longing. Deep, breathless kisses that speed up his heart and swell his lips. Hanzo moans inadvertently when teasing fingers spread his cheeks and run along his rim.

McCree finds a familiar slickness there and pulls back. “Ya’ got yourself ready for me?” he growls so low Hanzo feels as if he’s being chastised. His middle finger brushes against his slicked hole and dips into more lube and a tender muscle. Perhaps Hanzo’s bold advances have to do with this. The thought of Hanzo prepping himself before his arrival ignites something deep down his groin, his cock strained too tight for how hard and ready he is to explore deeper inside him. “I’m gonna finger you anyway,” he threatens.

It has the opposite reaction than a threat would for Hanzo bites back a shameful moan. He grabs his belt with both hands and pulls him into a kiss; one of those disgustingly romantic kisses. Deft fingers unbuckle him and pry open his fly, a hand sliding underneath the damp, tight space to wrap a hand around a thick, pulsing cock. Hanzo bites McCree’s lower lip as he groans, his hand squeezing mercilessly his stiff shaft. “You are big,” he mumbles, struggling to move his wrist to pump his cock. But McCree stops him, eyebrows knit together, his breath hitching.

“Ya’ wanted to get this over with fast?” His voice wavers ever so slightly, betraying him. 

The thought of Hanzo expecting a fast fuck and bidding good night for both churns his stomach. He has never wanted to sleep with someone so badly as he wanted him since he came into the locker room as he owned the world and worse, him. Hanzo’s lips stretch on a smug smile, and McCree grunts at the hand stretching his boxers as it strokes his cock.

The amusement breaks into an unexpected chuckle, and McCree swears is the most beautiful noise he’s ever heard. “More like to get at it as soon as we could,” he confesses.

“Good, ‘cause I ain’t leavin’ till the sun comes up.”

Hanzo pulls his hand out, glancing down at the wet mark on his grey boxers. He runs teasing fingers over the still contained erection, his tongue wetting his lips and anticipating the treat he’ll have. If he takes his cock out, he’ll drop to his knees and will suck the life out of the man before he can think twice. If it even fits into his mouth. First, he wants McCree to lead, and take, and own as boldly as he dared to ask for a night with him. The guy has earned it, and Hanzo’s dying to get dominated for a change.

“You are welcome to spend the night,” Hanzo whispers with the hint of a smile, “or until you tire of fucking.”

_ Gonna need _ _ more than _ _ one night for that_, McCree wryly thinks. He’s relieved by his words but curses the raging erection that peeks through the waistband of his boxers, already missing the touch of his hand. “I haven’t even started yet, darlin’.”

Doubts of what expect them tonight left aside, Hanzo shoulders off his robe. The garment pools at his feet while McCree mumbles a curse under his breath. Hanzo stands on his tiptoes to reach his mouth but instead of the kiss McCree’s eager to receive, he whispers lustful words that coil deep in his soul. “Do as you please.”

Hanzo relishes in the way his cheeks turn red and his breath hitches up in his chest. Naked as he is, he turns around and finds himself hard in the reflection of the mirror. He leans his forearms on the dresser, avoiding his own eyes while he curls his spine and glances over his shoulder. McCree’s eyes rivet the length of his back, mouth agape.

“Oh goddamnit.” If he gets inside him now, he’ll shoot his load at the first thrust.

For one night, Hanzo frees himself of the restrain that rules his life. Offering himself like this isn’t like him, or maybe he never found a partner worthy of this shameless play that has his cock hard as a rock and his skin tingling for his touch. Had to be the man who seems to go mad with desire at the mere sight of him. For all he cares, McCree can take his pleasure however he wants while he abandons himself to his own lustful dreams; he’ll have a chance later to do the same, feasting on the boxer’s body until he knows the ridges of his muscles by heart.

McCree offered him a deal he never thought he needed. The encounter of two strangers that leave all rules aside for just one night; someone who knows nothing about him, his life in Hanamura, no attachments or anything but their naked bodies getting a much-needed relief.

“How can ya’ be this beautiful?” McCree whispers the words in a groan. He roams his hands over alabaster skin, following a long, lean back that ends in a pair of full rounded cheeks. Hanzo sees his own reddened face in his reflection and averts his gaze. Calloused hands seem to praise his skin while McCree mumbles nonsense about how pretty he is or how soft is his skin. He needn’t tell them when the hot touch of his fingers speaks louder than his voice.

McCree pushes his bulge right into his buttocks and imagines what it would be to take him. His mind rambles among the many possibilities that Hanzo’s simple statement opens. _ Do as you please_. He could take his cock out and slide inside without a warning, but he’d pump twice into him before he comes. _ Not yet,_ he curses inwardly, _ not in a rush_. His hands spread him to watch him closely, and he finds a slightly gaping hole glistening in lube. McCree puts his lust on a leash as he leans forward.

“Can I eat you up?” he whispers into his ear and meets his eyes through the mirror.

“You needn’t ask,” Hanzo says, pushing up with his hands to turn around. McCree’s weight on his back hinders his attempt while a wolfish grin widens on his lips.

“I mean if I can eat your ass or am I being too straight forward,” McCree whispers in a low rumble that seizes his breath.

Hanzo gasps, but before his coy reaction translates into his countenance, he smirks. “You know no shame, Jesse McCree,” Hanzo retorts.

“Just Jesse.” He rubs his hard cock against his butt, his boxers brushing the sensitive skin there while he gets sweet friction out of his teasing.

“I told you to do as you please…,” his lips stretch at the pregnant pause, “… Jesse.” McCree holds his gaze for a few seconds.

“It is you I wanna please, darlin’.” His smile widens, sending Hanzo’s heart for a gallop, a whole-body shudder coursing through him.

Starting on his shoulder, McCree spares open-mouthed kisses down the length of his back, following the sinful path of his spine to his tailbone. He dips his tongue there, his hands fondling the sides of his legs as he sinks into his knees and glances up at the gorgeous view. Hanzo lowers his head, his forearms anchored on the surface while he tries not to tremble at the reverent and slow-killing paced worshiping. McCree notes a tremble and smiles, scooting closer until his hot breath puffs against his skin. He cannot help but take a bite of a round cheek.

“Oh darlin’,” he chuckles, “you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone.” His tongue traces the lush curve of his ass, teasing, greedy hands cupping and squeezing from the back of his thighs until they’re full. He finally has access to that sweet, yakuza ass he’s been dreaming of for too many nights in a row. Tonight, he will bite, lick, and cum until he has nothing left to give.

“What are you waiting for?” Hanzo curses when his voice wavers, impatience churning his stomach. McCree massages his butt cheeks with both hands, leaving red marks and hopefully a few bruises. He bites him again as if he were taking a bite of a red, juicy apple instead.

“I ain’t in a hurry.” A low chuckle precedes a needy groan when McCree spreads him and presses his opened mouth against his stretched hole. He gives a long, luscious swipe of his tongue and smiles when Hanzo moans. “You’re all ready and slick for me, damn,” McCree mumbles, releasing a full cheek as he effortlessly slides a finger inside him. Hanzo’s hands clench into two tight fists while his hole does the same around the unexpected intruder. “I wanna make ya’ sing, darlin’.”

Hanzo whines, his legs spreading inadvertently when McCree pushes his finger in and out of him. “Use your tongue, and stop the nonsense,” Hanzo hisses in a ragged breath full of half-baked lust.

“Damn, I like it when you get bossy,” McCree retorts right before he pulls his finger out and licks his way up to his balls to push against his hole.

“Fuck.” The curse escapes as a moan and Hanzo knows, but how to mind when that sinful tongue licks and tugs at McCree’s wild will.

Hanzo thanks the sturdy furniture holding him upright because his legs have long gone boneless. His reflection speaks of the deeds happening behind him; bedroom eyes under thick, black eyebrows, his cheeks flushed as if he were a mere teenager on his first time. It spreads down his neck as he worries at his lower lip in a futile attempt to muffle the whines that want to pour free.

His mind in a daze, Hanzo wrinkles his eyes shut to abandon himself to the sensations. McCree gives long, teasing strokes of his tongue across his rim, then fast flicks in his sensitive hole only to push inside with a wet, hard muscle that it’s not nearly enough what he needs. And yet his cock oozes a clear trail that pools on top of the dresser, a new spurt coming out whenever McCree shoves his tongue inside him and hums a melody as if pleased to find no resistance. He’s a marvelous kisser.

Hanzo leans on a single forearm while he takes his cock in hand. It’s drenched in his own pre-cum, droplets trickling down his shaft. He uses it to smooth the gentle strokes while he bites his tongue not to say his name out loud. A playful slap on his right cheek makes him wince and his cock twitch. “If you dare…” he blurts out right before the sting of another gentle smack startles him along with the caring touch of a warm hand.

McCree bites his cheek as he chuckles. “Positive you don’t like that?” he teases, his knuckles brushing his butt as if asking for permission. Hanzo bites back a growl, torn between allowing that slightly humiliating whim or not.

“Do as you like,” he mutters. Another spank resounds in the room and leaves a sting that curls his stomach delightfully.

“Wanna cum?” McCree strokes his pinkish cheek as he peppers kisses on the other. “’Cause I’d say you’re ready to melt, sweetheart.”

Hanzo realizes he squeezes his pulsing cock trying to contain himself. What for? He hops a leg up the dresser, meeting his own, dark eyes on the mirror as he does. “Yes,” he says in a raspy whisper.

“God, look at ya’,” McCree grunts, his tongue already out and licking his hole more intently than before. “Let me taste you real good.”

He spreads him wide with one hand while he buries his face in between his cheeks and lets his tongue loose. Hanzo strokes himself, feeling every jerk of his cock in the fluttering of his hole. McCree finds his foot near his shoulder and hugs his ankle, his thumb stroking his heel and giving him goosebumps that travel up Hanzo’s spine like a jolt.

Fumbling at the brink of orgasm and the man hasn’t even touched his cock. His tongue tugs and prods at his muscle, rounds and outlines him only to retreat and smear spit and lube all over his rim. Hanzo shudders from sheer pleasure, his cock hugged in a loose fist all wet by his own arousal. He wants to elongate this as much as he can.

“I wanna feel ya’ cum ‘round my tongue,” McCree whispers before he pushes his tongue in and out of him without mercy. He’s so tender that it takes him no effort. He keeps squeezing his ankle and eating his ass as if he knew no other trade despite the thick taste of lube invading his mouth. McCree fucks him with his tongue as he’d do with his cock, his other hand grasping bruisingly his butt cheek until he’s sure he’s leaving crescent moon indentations.

Pursuing his relief, Hanzo rocks his hips shyly against his own fist, pushing back to get more of that relentless tongue that steals his pride and drives him mad for more. His climax builds up from deep down his groin and bursts out of him with a guttural cry as he slams a hand against the sturdy mirror; for support, or sheer desperation. Hanzo muffles the blue streak of moans by biting his own forearm. His body shakes and his cock spills a stripe of cum on his own dresser. _ Fuck._ His palm leaves behind a damp mark.

McCree never stops, moaning from the back of his throat as Hanzo climaxes. He rides out the orgasm swiping his tongue over and over against his fluttering hole. His softened cock touches the cold surface of the dresser and Hanzo gasps. It’s been too long since something so satisfying coursed through him, and he has no intention to stop the man still eating his ass.

A frisson runs through his spine when McCree slows down and rises to his feet at the same time his tongue follows the line of his spine, every bump, and every dip until he moves his hair to the front and stops at his nape. “Oh darlin’,” he whispers, his hard cock pressed instantly against his spit-licked butt. It’s hot and tempting, and Hanzo is a heartbeat away to beg him to fuck him right there and now despite his recent release.

McCree helps him put his leg down and wraps both arms around his stomach. It startles Hanzo, but instead of muttering a protest, he leans into his embrace, boneless. His face is a poem written in the afterglow of his climax, and McCree grins while hunching over to rest his chin over his shoulder, basking in his beauty.

“See? Now I can get ya’ on your knees,” he teases.

“Glad your scathing tongue can do more than talking.” Hanzo turns around in his arms as if he had been doing it his whole life, the gesture so natural it settles a queasiness in his stomach. Shy fingers trace a strong jaw, his lips red and swollen but smiling. Hanzo cocks his head to the side, hoping for one of those kisses, his heart returning to a normal rhythm.

“Bathroom?” McCree whispers, biting his lower lip. “There’s lube all over my mouth and damn me if I’m gettin’ it all over your pretty lips.”

Hanzo clears his throat, beckoning with his head. “Door on the right.”

With a half-smile, McCree sways his way there hanging onto his jeans. He glances back at Hanzo, leaning on the dresser and running a hand through his onyx, silver-sprinkled hair. “Happy ya’ want my kisses now, darlin’.” He winks at him.

When the light of the bathroom bathes the primly arranged bed, Hanzo takes a deep sigh. He reaches for a clean shirt from a drawer and cleans up his own mess before he forgets. His body is still slack by the aftereffects of his orgasm. This was supposed to calm him down when all he wants is more of him. That tongue, although skillful, couldn’t fill him how he wants.

Anticipating his own actions, Hanzo inches his way toward the nightstand to grab a recently acquired bottle of lube. He squeezes some in his fingers and winces at the cold touch against his cleft. His hole throbs by his recent climax while he pushes two fingers inside him, coating himself in lube until he feels it dripping down his balls.

“Starting out without me?” McCree teases.

“Come here,” Hanzo says in that authoritarian voice that reminds him of the unattended erection still in his boxer briefs.

As soon as he’s at Hanzo’s arm’s reach, he turns them around and pushes him down on the bed. McCree chuckles while Hanzo sneaks his fingers underneath both jeans and boxers and pulls down. He shimmies them off while bracing on his forearms and breathes out when his hard cock bounces against his belly. “Easy there,” he chuckles again.

Hanzo gets on his knees and ensconces himself between his thighs, not minding the bundle of clothes underneath nor the garments trapped at his ankles. He swallows at the sight of that huge dick and then flicks his eyes up to McCree’s. “I’m going to suck you off and then ride you.” Without a warning, he grabs his cock, stifling a moan when his hand is full and barely enough to round his girth. The remnants of lube on his fingers smooth the way and elicit a sweet, loud moan from McCree.

“I ain’t gonna say no to that.”

He gives a long stroke as if measuring the thick, hard cock at his mercy. He squeezes, turning the gentle pull into a ruthless hold. His mouth waters in anticipation at the same time McCree blushes and a clear spurt trickles down the underside of his shaft. Hanzo leans down to lick, savoring the salty taste of sex.

“Do not come until I say so,” he whispers but sounds like a threat.

Hanzo hums and hugs the tip of his cock inside the warmth of his mouth. It’s been too long, but he hopes his desperate arousal makes up for his lack of practice. His hand toys with his balls while he suckles around him, getting used to his size.

“Oh damn,” McCree groans. His chest rises and falls with his breathing, his eyes missing nothing of that sinful mouth trapping his cock in the sweet, tight hug he needed. Long, black lashes adorn his cheeks as he blows him, a pink hue tingeing them with the innocence he knows isn’t there. What a sight to behold! If he wasn’t drunk of him and horny as fuck, he’d believe he’s falling in love.

Hanzo struggles to stuff his mouth until the head taps the back of his throat and he gags, making him pull his cock out. His hand grasps the root while he twirls his tongue around the head, brushing it lightly on the underside as a salty spurt shoots into his mouth. He moans and sucks harder, his hand twisting his shaft, his other one nestling his balls. Not enough. Hanzo wants to feel the unbearable stretch on his lips, he wants his throat constricting around him, the lack of air, and get more of those sweet, praises and endearments that pour out of McCree’s mouth.

“Just like that, honey.” Hanzo takes him deeper, ignoring the sudden tightening of his throat until he relaxes. Then he sucks, his whole mouth pulling at his cock and drawing out of him yet another shameful moan. He’s so loud, and yet he loves it albeit he will never confess it. “You suck me so good.”

Now that he has his cock where he wants, Hanzo moves his hand up to caress the flexing muscles in McCree’s abdomen. His skin is scorching hot, the happy trail down his navel tickling his fingers as he sucks, pulls out, gasps for air and comes back to devour that dick that glistens in his own saliva. Used to his girth, Hanzo swallows the last inch until his nose brushes the hair at his root.

“Oh God,” McCree moans, wringing the bedding. Hanzo gags, dragging him out slowly only to swallow him whole again. “Don’t choke on it, honey,” McCree teases. Hanzo lifts his eyes at him, gracing him with a glare as he suckles and tugs at the tip of his cock. McCree thrashes his head back as he mumbles a curse, his hand finding Hanzo’s neck. “You’re doing great.”

His thumb strokes his Adam’s apple, and Hanzo pulls all the way back until he kisses the wet, tip of his cock only to slide it back where it belongs. He notes his throat bulging as he takes him inside with less trouble than before. That’s when he realizes the snooty yakuza knows how to suck dick better than him, he just needed to warm up. Somehow the thought of Hanzo doing this to other guys startles him with a pang of jealousy.

For a moment that seems an eternity for his tight balls, McCree glances down at Hanzo while his cock disappears into his mouth and fills his throat. He feels it with his hand, full lips rounding his girth and squeezing him in and out. “Darlin’,” he breathes out from sheer desperation. The pace is slow as if he were just teasing, but the heat of his mouth, the softness of his tongue, the delectable tightness when Hanzo gags.

His hand finds his way to the back of his head as if he needed more, faster, deeper, but then he curses and loosens his grip on him. “M’sorry, you’re killin’ me here, sweetheart.” Hanzo leads his hand back to his hair, and McCree moans when rough fingers thread in his silky mane. His mouth engulfs him again, sucking around his cock faster than before, taking him halfway out and deep down in the next heartbeat.

“Oh, God,” he whines. He leans back on the bed with one arm, his hips lifting in a needy sway as he fucks his mouth. Hanzo encompasses his movements and follows him so his cock never leaves the never-ending gloriousness of his mouth. McCree’s chin is glued to his chest, unable to miss anything of what’s going on down his navel. He’s so damn sexy with a mouth full of his cock, bedroom eyes staring down, a hand playing with the little hairs down his navel, the other squeezing gently his balls.

“Darlin’, I…” McCree struggles to speak, the heels of his boots anchored on the floor while he rocks into his mouth like a man possessed. “I’m gonna cum, you gotta stop, I…” McCree grunts, sucked dry by a relentless mouth that keeps his pace as if determined to seek his end. McCree clutches a handful of his hair and tugs as if that would serve as a third warning.

Hanzo notes his balls drawing up, and his cock swelling further into his mouth. His hand instinctively pushes Hanzo onward while his hips push up. Hanzo gags, but his throat tightens around his cock. He swallows and suckles and McCree shoots his load with a muttered cry. “Goddamnit.” He comes so hard his mind goes black.

Far from pulling back, Hanzo keeps him there, drool trickling down his chin as he laps McCree’s hot spurts while moaning a sultry melody. The hold on his hair turns into a sweet caress that tingles all over his scalp. His cock goes soft as he keeps sucking and taking him out clean of spit and cum. McCree whines and slumps back on the bed when his cock is out of his mouth, and yet Hanzo sucks at the tip, pulling at his skin and sending a whole-body shudder through him.

McCree mumbles inaudibly while Hanzo hops on his lap and straddles him on the bed, hands at both sides of his head and a smug smirk stretching on his lips. Their softened cocks brush gingerly. “Now I cannot ride you.” Despite his perfectly stretched and lubed ass.

“Damn, sweetheart, you made your bed, now lie on it,” McCree chuckles. He traps his chin into his hand and wipes the spit with his thumb.

“This was just the starters,” Hanzo whispers before McCree cranes his head up and traps his swollen, velvety lips into a kiss. Tasting himself in Hanzo Shimada’s mouth tricks his cock into a subtle twitch. He grunts softly during the kiss, naughty hands creeping up his bared thighs.

“This cowboy will be ready for a ride in just a minute,” he mumbles.

“How about a shower first,” Hanzo pauses to smile, “cowboy?”

“You mean my hands all over your body under a stream of water?” McCree grins. “Sign me up.” Hanzo motions to stand when McCree holds onto his hips and straightens. “Hanzo,” he gasps his name as if he liked the sound of it on his lips, “I like when you call me cowboy.”

“As if you were one,” Hanzo retorts.

“I am,” McCree huffs, “left my hat home, should’ve brought it so you could wear it for your first ride.” Hanzo stifles a laugh, but when those hands wind around him with promises for the night, he soaks in the affection and a hearty chuckle escapes him. It is as if a veil had lifted, showing his true self instead of the cold-hearted yakuza he is in front of everyone else. McCree swoons, delighted by that gracious, throaty chuckle that curls his stomach and the beaming smile that follows closely behind.

_ Damn, if he isn’t beautiful when he smiles_.


	5. Pound-for-Pound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This term is used to describe a fighter’s skill level regardless of weight category.

McCree rumbles a low groan under the stream of hot water with Hanzo in all his glorious nakedness rubbing him in soap. The floor-level shower is so big it fits both, the stream so even and powerful his back muscles unravel from any tension. That and the pair of hands that work the soap into his skin and hug every muscle free of the nerves and the soreness of the past week.

Opening his eyes, McCree steps out of the steamy water and pulls Hanzo closer for another unforgiving kiss. He needs to touch him, feel him and put his lips everywhere on him before it’s too late and the night is over. Hanzo’s hands halt for a brief second when he deepens the kiss, then he relaxes and yields, kissing him back and resuming the unnecessary massage on his biceps.

It is as though Hanzo was tense, almost surprised to be kissed so often and so intently he leaves him breathless; and god forbid if McCree only wants to drown into his lips and kiss him a thousand times more until he gets used to his demanding lips. Will he ever get the chance to do this again after tonight? McCree grunts into the kiss, his hands caressing his way down his back to cradle his backside into soapy, greedy hands.

The shower served as a recess to recover. Hanzo purposefully neglected the task of cleaning up, enjoying the touch of his skin, the soap an excuse to explore him; as if he needed one. McCree does the same to him, his hands pretending to wipe away the foam but they only squeeze and fondle tender skin. A pair of fingers tease his rim, and Hanzo moans into his mouth.

“I can’t believe you’re like this and I'm not inside you.”

Trapping Hanzo in an inescapable grip, he swivels about and pins him against the tiles. Hanzo gasps when his upper back presses against the cold surface, McCree sensing it on the back of his hands while he pushes Hanzo onward, their bodies joined from chest to thighs, their legs interlaced. “Can’t wait to get you all dirty again.” He grins, glancing down at a very wet and flustered Hanzo.

McCree slides a soapy hand in between them, wrapping around Hanzo’s half-hard cock and stroking him gently. “Ya’ got a real pretty cock, I just wanna put it in my mouth and suck you off.”

“You’d be silent then,” Hanzo retorts with a smirk.

McCree chuckles before he buries his face in the crook of his neck. “C’mon ya’ love my tongue,” he whispers into his ear, the tip brushing his earlobe.

“What you can do with it,” Hanzo says, his arms winding around his neck for support because that teasing hand has turned his legs into jelly.

“Including calling you pretty things, sweet pie…” McCree runs a thumb over the head, noting a droplet of pre-cum oozing out. “Darlin’,” he squeezes up and down, Hanzo’s breath puffing against his shoulder, “sweetheart, honey…” Hanzo snorts, a smile pressing against McCree’s hot skin.

“Shut up,” he hisses. He pats McCree’s hand away and fumbles around until he can take both their cocks in a messy grip. Manly, strong hands come back to his butt cheeks for a ruthless squeeze. He spreads him and toys with his backside while Hanzo strokes them gently, the soap easing the way.

“I’ll let this one slide,” McCree quips in a breath, leaning down to trap his lips in a soft, tender kiss so sweet it shrinks his heart. “’Cause I’m weak for your kisses.” 

He shouldn’t; kiss him, call him those things, to chase that sense of intimacy that turns Hanzo insecure. Not when he’s doing it despite his own besotted heart. McCree gets too attached too soon, and it seems tonight, he’s falling so hard he isn’t sure he can stand right after. Hanzo caught him cold as any fight in his life had.

McCree devours Hanzo’s mouth, his hands firmly grasping his butt cheeks, his mouth breathing out words in between kisses. Hanzo’s hand is gone, and he’s free to hump against him. It offers not nearly enough relief, but whenever his cock brushes against his hip or his stomach, a jolt of pleasure curls his spine. They melt against each other, bodies fused with soap, and water, and the distant aftertaste of new love.

Before they realize it, they’re panting into each other’s mouths and committed to a dangerous embrace that menaces to send them both over the edge despite their better judgment. Their bodies glide in a seamless back and forth as they seek mutual comfort. “God ya’ feel so good,” he mumbles, taking his mouth before he waits for an answer. Hanzo moans from the back of his throat, sliding his tongue inside his mouth in hopes he shuts up and never stops kissing him. His hands travel up well-defined shoulders and a strong neck until he threads his fingers in wet hair, scratching his scalp, pushing him deeper into the kiss until they need to gasp for air. Hanzo stares into those eyes brimming with lust. “Bed.”

After yet another long, breathless kiss, McCree musters the strength to part from Hanzo’s comforting body. They wash away the remnants of soap and step out to towel dry their bodies before they head back to the bedroom. McCree hangs the towel from his head and rubs his hair effusively while watching Hanzo pat his hair dry of excess water. His peerless skin is covered by a pink hue because of the long shower and the steam, and it brings a smile to his lips.

McCree knew he’d be beautiful underneath those expensive suits, but he never thought he’d be completely enamored with both, the man and the dragon. Another minute trapped in that shower and he would have fucked him raw against the cold tiles. His heart speeds up at the thought. They’re both hard and worked up even after their previous encounter. Their cocks stand firmly into the air as they walk back to the bedroom. McCree cocks his head to the side and admires Hanzo’s backside with a grin and gets caught red-handed. He graces him with an insouciant shrug.

“It ain’t my fault you’re damn pretty.” The corner of his mouth tugs upward in a half-smile and McCree’s heart leaps from excitement. 

The shower has left his skin tingling, and now he smells like him, or perhaps what he feels is the aftereffects of being against him. Craving his touch, McCree wraps both arms around his waist when they’re about to reach the bed.

A treacherous smile stretches on Hanzo’s lips, and he does nothing to hide it for he has his back turned to him. He leans into his slightly damp chest, reveling in the warmth emanating from his skin and the hard cock pressed on the small of his back. He’s glad they’re at his apartment and not a hotel, but maybe in a few days, that’s a curse and not a blessing. Will his bedroom be forever tainted by tonight’s memories?

The same hands that have him utterly charmed travel up to his chest as if he wanted to trace every pore of his skin, unhurriedly, as if they had all the time in the world. Hanzo hums, yielding to the caring man determined to get under his skin with a sweet drawl and even sweeter hands. 

A night with him seems to mean way more than he thought, and it scares him to the core. How free is he to feel like this? To surrender an armored heart and taste a sip at a normal life, at a lover that isn’t after his money or his power, someone who despite his foul play shows more tenderness to him than anyone ever has.

McCree squeezes his chest, fingers brushing against perked nipples in a game of back and forth that transfers right into his cock. He leaves a trail of kisses over his bared shoulder. “I’m so glad I won that fight,” he whispers, puffing his breath and raspy words against the crook of his neck, sending a frisson through his spine.

“You had no doubt you would,” Hanzo quips, “and you could have just asked.” Hanzo lies to himself believing he would have accepted. Perhaps he would have, most likely not. Truth is, McCree made an impression that lingered in him for days after.

He tightens his hold around him, inhaling deeply the fresh scent of the shower gel. “I imagine the number of men tryin’ to get into your pants, asking for a date, or dinner, or more,” he chuckles. “What could ya’ possibly want from someone like me?” Hanzo turns around in his arms and finds a blush on his cheeks that wasn’t there during their shower. “But I knew none of them had won a bout for a chance with you.” A smug grin stretches on his lips and bares his teeth.

Hanzo arches a questioning eyebrow at him. “More like several, you were very specific with your request,” he says.

“And you loved it to bits, darlin’.” McCree’s voice drops a notch. “I would’ve won as many fights as you wanted for just a kiss.”

Hanzo’s throat tightens, his heart swelling at the foolish man pampering him with endearments, loving words, flirting even when there’s no need for he is naked in his arms and willing to please. His eyebrows knit together, his mouth parting while he looks at him in a daze, unable to pinpoint if the man is just a charmer who knows what to say or when to make him lower his guard or if he’s really his sweet self. Hanzo wishes it’s not the last, lucky their paths met when they did.

“Hey,” McCree rumbles with a teasing smile, “before we get on the bed and I lose my wits on your body, do I need a condom?” His hands move to the safety of his lower back, but his eyes glitter with mischief and want. Now it’s Hanzo’s time to blush. First, because it caught him off guard, secondly, because they should have discussed this earlier but it never crossed his mind. His thumbs move in circles as he waits for an answer. “Can’t wait to be inside you in any way…”

“I’m clean,” Hanzo whispers.

“Me too, so…” McCree mumbles, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.

Hanzo rises to his tiptoes and whispers against his ear. “Do as you please.” His lips close around a cold earlobe, suckling gently while McCree squeezes him in his arms and grunts. "I have nothing against getting dirty for the sake of pleasure."

“God, yes,” he breathes out when Hanzo bites his neck in a different place than before. “I like it messy,” he buries his nose in Hanzo’s hair, enjoying the mouth painting his neck in pink and red.

“As long as you lick me clean after,” Hanzo jests, his tongue swiping and tasting his skin.

“Oh, darlin’ you know I’d do that,” McCree growls. “I’d spend the night with your ass on my face and die a happy man…” Hanzo chuckles at his shamelessness, escaping his needy embrace and walking backward until his calves hit the bed and he sits, displaying his body. McCree’s legs tremble while he watches him, his hand reaching for a wake-up pull at his cock.

“Filthy cowboy,” Hanzo teases.

“You have no idea…”

He retreats on the bed when McCree closes the two steps that separate them, glancing at him with defying eyes. “You wanted me on my knees, you said?” McCree growls as he nods. Hanzo aches to have those muscles tangled around him, forcing him down as he takes his pleasure and owns him while he abandons himself to his own wet dreams.

They never had a face, just a hard body leaving him sore and utterly satisfied whereas panting upon waking up. But when they met, all those dirty fantasies were starred by Jesse McCree. Hanzo’s heart pounds in his chest, his tongue wetting his lips while he watches McCree warming up the lube in between his fingers. “There is no need,” Hanzo says, hoping not to sound too impatient and failing miserably.

“Hands and knees, darlin’.” The smug grin on his lips sends a delicious shudder down his cock.

McCree coats his erection in lube while watching Hanzo roll to a cat stretch that tightens his balls. He mumbles a curse under his breath and climbs up the bed behind him. Nudging his knees open as he scoots closer. He strokes his tailbone with a firm palm and down the luscious curve of his backside. Hanzo relaxes his stance, his chest resting against the mattress, an arm above his head, the other at his side to support his upper body weight. His heart thunders at the feel of him behind his body, prying eyes scrutinizing every hidden corner. He wants to glance back at him, but he’s sure his face is a new shade of red.

A thumb prods at his hole and brushes up and down his sensitive skin while a delicate trail leaks out of his cock and into the bedding. “McCree,” Hanzo protests.

“Jesse,” he drawls, denying him of his caresses and patting his butt. “Call me Jesse.” Lube-slicked fingers brush gingerly his rim. He chuckles at Hanzo’s low growl and pushes both fingers inside him. He’s tight, and hot, tender and stretched but clenches around his fingers as if he wanted to swallow them into his needy hole. McCree spreads his cheek and pumps in and out of him while missing nothing of the show. “God, you’re gonna squeeze me dry,” he mumbles.

He could spend the whole night treating him right, spoiling him with his tongue, his fingers, and his dick until Hanzo begged for him to stop, or better, until he would cry out his name during a soul-tearing orgasm. McCree’s a man with a plan and the tools to execute it, that’s if he doesn’t spill his lust in less than thirty seconds.

McCree withdraws his fingers, cleaning his hand on the sheets while he gets even closer, his cock resting in between his butt cheeks while he gets a good grip on his hips. He rocks into him, his lubed shaft teasing Hanzo. McCree notes the way his spine arches against him, and worries at his lower lip. Calloused hands roam bare skin until they hook over his shoulders and trace their way back. “Damn,” he mumbles under his breath.

Hanzo braces himself on his forearms and glares back at him, demanding the dick that has been promised. McCree stifles a smile, hands resting on the bed as he leans forward. “I’ll go slow,” he whispers against his ear, his chest barely brushing his back.

“What if I want it fast?” Hanzo sneers. McCree chuckles, nuzzling behind his ear. He wipes his hair out of the way, and it drapes down Hanzo’s shoulder to the front. Now there’s a bare shoulder to kiss. “I mean it,” Hanzo says.

“I’m big enough to leave you sore, darlin’.” McCree rocks into him, dreading this dangerous play will drive him to his orgasm before he’s inside him.

Hanzo turns about, his arm curling around McCree’s head to grasp a handful of his hair. He tilts back until they’re mouth to mouth. “I’m counting on it.”

Every breath they breathe comes in a gasp. If Hanzo wants a hard fuck, McCree will deliver. It’s not as if their night will be over right after. He can slide in and pound the life out of him even if it lasts just a minute. McCree retreats, ready to grab his cock and do exactly that, but at the pregnant pause, Hanzo grunts and pulls him into a messy kiss. McCree’s cock springs free from between his cheeks and slides right against his balls. They both moan in unison.

A clear trail joins their lower lips. “Fuck me hard and leave me sore,” Hanzo smirks, “Jesse.”

All trembling hands and shuddering heart, McCree reaches for his cock and aligns himself until he notes the heat and softness of his entrance. He swivels his hips forward, sliding into a tight but welcoming hole. “Damn,” he gasps.

“More,” he demands. He slides in another inch. The stretch burns, no matter how well he prepared. An hour before he arrived, he opened himself with his fingers, with a dildo, and stopped right before coming all over his own stomach. Then he started again. He wanted to be ready for the first, the second, and the many times he intended to get fucked by the boxer. Hanzo bites his lower lip, his knees wobbly, his ass clenching tightly around him. “Yes, more.”

In a ruthless snap of his hips, McCree shoves himself balls-deep. Hanzo’s topples over, his face against the bedding. “Stay there, sweetheart,” he groans. Hanzo yields to the strong hand at the back of his neck. It pushes him down as if he could read his dreams. His cock twitches and his toes curl at the demanding gesture. But he obeys.

Bracing himself single-handedly, McCree holds Hanzo down while he withdraws his cock until he’s empty and needy only to come back in a merciless onslaught. His balls draw up tightly, but Hanzo’s hole clenching around him stops him from coming right there. _What a shame…_ He does it again, loving how Hanzo engulfs him whole at every slam. His thumb traces the racing pulse point at his neck; matches his own. “Is that what ya’ want?” he says in a throaty whisper.

“Yes, harder.” Hanzo’s face is so red he smiles to himself, a cheek against the bed, the other partially covered by onyx strands of hair. McCree uses the length of his cock to fuck him in long, deep thrusts. The head plunged into him, the rest ready to slide seamlessly where it belongs over and over.

McCree graces him with a wolfish grin and a kiss on his cheek before he straightens. Both his hands grip firmly his sides, keeping him in place for yet another thrust. Hanzo muffles a moan on the bedding, wringing the sheets to endure the pummeling of his cock. It never leaves him empty, McCree pulls out and plunges back in faster than before, the noise of flesh against flesh filling the room, his fantasy becoming so real an actual fear of waking up churns his stomach for a brief second.

Hanzo glimpses the scene through the mirror on top of the dresser. He sees himself sprawled wide, his ass lifted into the air as he takes him without uttering a complaint. The firm hand on his neck is back and has no hesitations either. McCree’s muscles swell and twitch with his movements, his fingers digging holes into his skin, his hips slamming over and over while he enjoys the overwhelming stretch of his thick, marvelous cock, the lingering soreness of their mating, the need to ask for more and bite his tongue, unable to act upon his desires.

Face against the mattress, Hanzo sneaks a hand underneath to reach for his cock. “No way,” McCree says, grasping his wrist and leading it above his head. His weight is on top of his back, his lower body dancing on his own and wrecking him at every thrust. Perfect gauged rhythm, unbearable pressure coiling down his balls, his cock bursting for a soft touch that isn’t there. Hanzo grunts, trying to move his hand but unable to escape his grip. “You’re comin’ just from my cock,” McCree whispers. “You’ve been asking for it.”

His tongue licks his way up to his cheek, relishing in the salty taste of sweat on Hanzo’s skin. He settles for an easy rhythm, partly because he can’t hold on much longer, also because he presses a flat palm on Hanzo’s stomach, teasing down his navel, barely brushing the root of his cock. “Touch me,” Hanzo mumbles without thinking and is rewarded by a chuckle and a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

McCree pulls halfway out and comes back deeper than before, his hips molding the curve of his buttocks. He stays there, warm and safe, scooting even closer, his legs pushing Hanzo’s inner thighs even further apart. He gives a long stroke to his cock and feels the sweet clenching of his hole around his hard shaft. “Damn, you feel so good, darlin’,” he whispers against his ear, spotting red marks on the back of his neck.

His chest pushes down until he’s pinning him all the way down. He sneaks a hand underneath the mattress and Hanzo to fondle his chest, pinch and tease at his nipple while he just stays shoved deep inside his heat. “I ain’t gonna last much longer,” he confesses, lying completely on top of him, gliding his body against jade skin. The grip on his wrist softens, and he inhales the musky scent of sex emanating from him.

“I’m close,” Hanzo breathes out, turning his head around enough for McCree to nuzzle at his cheek. “Touch me,” he pleads, “or move…”

McCree rocks into him, his lube-slicked hole sucking him right back in. He hooks his arm underneath Hanzo’s shoulder, bringing them both even closer. “I’m not gonna stop fucking you ‘til you come,” McCree whispers. “Cowboy promise.”

“Shut up,” Hanzo fumes. Truth is, he’s delighted by McCree’s fucking, weak on the knees as he gets plowed from behind at the same steady beating of his galloping heart. Even if he aches to touch himself and cum whenever that gorgeously shaped cock brushes against his prostate. His climax closes in haphazardly.

It’s been ages since he’s come like this; since he’s gotten on his knees for anyone so easily when he has the perfect no-problems-attached dildo which reaches where he needs. But this is so different, McCree moves exactly how he needs, how he dreamed he would, breathing sweet-nothings all the while.

“You’re so good, damn,” McCree says. “You’re taking me so well.” He licks the shell of his ear, noting Hanzo’s arousal on his own cock. He knows where to aim to make him tremble, and as promised, he won’t stop.

“McCree,” Hanzo warns but sounds more like a desperate moan.

He braces himself on his forearms, knees anchored on the bed as he thrusts frantically inside him, his cock aching and swelling as he tries to delay his release. McCree shushes him. “I won’t tease ya’,” he whispers low against his ear. “You’re so damn perfect.” His hand sneaks below him to stroke his cock. “So beautiful…” Hanzo’s stomach curls at the praises, at the hand loosely stroking him and the cock stretching him widely. But McCree goes down and nestles his balls, fondling them gently while he speeds up the short, deep thrusts that rule their lovemaking now.

“Wanna feel ya’ again ‘round me, darlin’.”

“More,” he whines. "Fuck me." He hates him for not touching his dick, for settling for this insane pace when every other slam his legs turn to jelly and his cock jerks; he hates that he reads his needs so well, that his hand is driving him mad, staying there to feel his release everywhere at his reach.

“Whatever ya’ need.” McCree’s ragged breath puffs against his nape, a long groan coming out of his lips as the telltale of his own imminent release. “’til ya’ can’t take it, ‘til I can see you blushing and comin’.”

Hanzo reaches for the hand on his shoulder, clawing his nails into the back of his hand as his climax makes him abandon himself to pleasure, his body to him. It’s so beautiful to see him surrendering, his balls tight before his release, his ass clenching so hard around his cock McCree struggles to fuck him. He strokes him then, rides out his orgasm while pounding into him seeking his own. A deep groan rumbles in his chest when McCree spills, hugged by Hanzo’s orgasm fluttering around his dick. “Damn, darlin’,” he mumbles, no air left in his lungs, his cock still spilling thoroughly inside him as he exhales a long breath. There's nothing compared to this feeling of completion, sharing a ragged breath with Hanzo, a moment of infinite pleasure that might have lasted a few seconds but he'll remember his whole life. He rocks into him, pressing his lips on his shoulder and absolutely lost for words.

They both collapse flat on the bed, McCree lying fully pressed against him, Hanzo caged underneath. His hand is trapped by Hanzo’s body and the mattress, but he still wraps around his softened cock; his own slipping outside despite his best efforts to remain inside him. He notes him wet between his cheeks, and presses a smiling kiss against his neck. “Ya’ good?” he whispers at Hanzo’s deadly stillness beneath his weight. He thinks about freeing him of the burden, but Hanzo squeezes his hand in response.

“Not bad, cowboy.” His voice comes muffled and tired until he turns his head to rest a cheek on the bed. “Not bad at all.” A chuckle rumbles in McCree’s chest, surely transferring to Hanzo’s body. He buries his face in his hair, knowing he should stand up and clean up his own mess although not after a good look at that sweet, yakuza ass that’s surely oozing his load.

“God, I wish I was hard enough to keep goin’,” McCree jests, placing a peck on Hanzo’s cheek.

Hanzo grunts, torn between letting the cowboy drown him in affection or escape the cuddling. “I need a smoke.” Option two wins.

After a quick washing up, Hanzo wrapped himself in his robe despite McCree’s childish pout and walked outside the balcony. He left an ashtray and a pack of cigarettes on a nearby table and lit a smoke. McCree watches him while he slides on his boxers and joins him shortly after. Hanzo offers him one politely, but he refuses, hoping for another taste of his lips instead. This man is a living temptation for his poor heart.

Hanzo stares listlessly at the city of Hanamura, white puffs joining the nightly breeze as the smoke downsizes at every little drag he inhales. There are a couple of chairs around, which hints Hanzo does this thing very often, probably alone, perhaps in the company of other lovers. McCree ignores the stupid thoughts and leans by his side on the railing. 

Their shoulders brush and Hanzo flicks his eyes at him, offering him the cigarette in between his fingers. McCree smiles, but the man by his side is the opposite as before. He was warm, coy, full of lust, and now he’s cold-blooded, calm, and in control. He breached a wall only to find another up when he least expected it. Hanzo’s fingers brush his lips as he takes a long drag. “Thank ya’,” he murmurs.

The cold of the night makes him shiver as if the warmth he found in his body merely minutes ago had drifted away from his body; perhaps it was never there. The silence creeps up his spine like a bad hunch. He asked for a night that will be over before he knows it. How naïve to invest in someone like Hanzo Shimada; unreachable, out of his league, playing games he knows nothing about. And yet he’d do it all over.

“How does it feel to own the city?” McCree asks, breaking the pregnant silence that enveloped them. From the last floor of the building, the cars are distant, pleasant noises, the night too quiet to belong to a city that never sleeps.

The smoke leaves his lungs in a deep sigh. “My father does.”

“Eventually, it’ll be yours.” McCree shrugs as if his fate was set in stone.

“Who knows? It could be my brother’s. It could be no one’s.” Hanzo turns to tap the ashes and comes back to the balustrade, this time to stare up high the night sky. If not for the light pollution and the delicate clouds crossing the sky, they could see a thousand stars.

“What do ya’ mean?”

“You don’t inherit a yakuza empire like the Shimada,” Hanzo says with a hint of smugness. It’s true his family owns the city and have for generations. Nothing happens in Hanamura if Sojiro doesn’t allow it whether it is about companies merging, billionaire deals, drug dealing, or arms smuggling. “You fight for it with money and blood.” McCree leans on his elbow, the sturdy stone scratching his skin, but he stares at those glazing eyes as if trying to grasp the true meaning of his words. “My father’s allies aren’t necessarily mine, and if I don’t fit in their own little world, I’m more likely dead than the heir.”

“But your father surely will ensure your future,” McCree quips, frowning.

Hanzo snorts wryly. “No one can tell what will happen when he’s gone, and I’m not sure if I want what’s been offered on a silver lining.” He puts away the cig only to light another smoke; these conversations always get to his nerves although he usually has them with himself; until he’s exhausted and trapped, tired of being who he is. “Especially when it’s poisoned,” he scoffs.

“Will ya’?”

“What?” Hanzo meets his whiskey-colored eyes and finds the kind of concern he wasn’t expecting.

“Fight for it.”

“I do not know,” Hanzo confesses.

He could accept his father’s leftovers now and build his own empire after he dies, he and Genji could rule Hanamura way better than their father does. But that would mean to tie themselves to a life that so far, has taken more from them than it has offered, besides swimming in money. Their late mother would cry a river if she knew what they have become because of Sojiro Shimada. Since an early age, he has known the Shimada lineage would end with him somehow, that that was the reason his father disliked him so viscerally, favoring Genji at every opportunity while dropping the world’s weight over his shoulders. He could turn a blind eye to his sparrow, but not to Hanzo.

A gust of wind scatters the ashes into the wind and brings him out of his reverie. That and McCree’s warmth beside him, silently watching him dwell on his own shitty life.

“Then why are you still workin’ for your father?”

Hanzo chuckles, about to take a drag when McCree caves in and steals the smoke from his hand. “It’s not like I can send a resignation letter with a two-week notice,” he says wryly with a half-smile, but then it dies until his lips press in a thin line. He knows the reason why he still puts up with his father’s nonsense, why he hasn’t run away or built a life of his own. What for? If Sojiro can take it away from him anytime; if whatever he loves will be endangered just by being who he is. “My brother,” he whispers. “My father would never let him go, so I need to solve this for both.”

“That I can understand,” McCree sighs. He’d do anything for Ashe or Gabe, he would never run away from them. 

Memories of the time he struggled to confess he wanted to quit boxing come back in a rush; he didn’t want to disappoint Gabriel, and he would hate to be a burden to Ashe albeit she would never complain; about everything else, sure, but not about him living off her money. But it all worked out. He’s out, they’ll be back home in a few weeks, and neither of them made him feel the slight guiltiness about choosing something different.

His new life awaits him and all he can truly think about is spending more than one night with Hanzo. “Can’t imagine what it’s like to be you, darlin’.” McCree traps his chin in between his knuckles and tilts his head to him. He presses a tender kiss on his lips in hopes he forgets the burdens that rob him of his sleep, that make him drink too much, smoke too much, and fuck strangers just to bring temporary excitement to his life. That’s what he guesses Hanzo does by how he accepted his offer as a well-known game. But the lonesome air he sports all the time and the touch-starved skin that prickles under his mouth hints otherwise.

“I’m nothing out of the ordinary,” Hanzo mumbles into his mouth, escaping his lips right after.

Who would have thought behind a yakuza prick -as Ashe called him- there would be so much stacked pain and regret for a life he hasn’t even chosen. “Darlin’,” McCree grins, “damn me if you are like no one I’ve ever met.” _ A beautiful man in a matching gilded cage_, he thinks inwardly.

“Sweet talker,” Hanzo mutters, stealing the smoke from his hand.

How he wished everything were simpler. Even tonight seems to get complicated as the time goes by. Perhaps he should call it a night, send him away before he finds out every corner of his body and soul in a bed made for one. “I mean it,” McCree whispers low and raspy against his mouth before he traps his lips in an inescapable embrace. Who is he trying to fool?

Without lifting his lips from Hanzo, McCree turns him around and brackets him against the balcony; hands on his hips, feeling the softness of the silk and craving the infinite softness that awaits underneath. Hanzo hums as if pleased. God if the man is pleased by his kisses, McCree’s ready to pour tenfold more into his mouth.

McCree kisses him unhurriedly as if he had nothing else to do and no other purpose than this exchange. His hands sneak under the hem of his robe to touch his skin. Hanzo sucks in a breath, a hand tangling around his neck, the other keeping the stupid cigarette away from them. Hanzo moans into his mouth. Who cares about what he can’t have when that shameless man tugs at the belt and leaves him bare in the open? He presses his hard, hot body against him, and Hanzo pulls away with a shaky breath.

“My kisses get ya’ hard…” McCree teases, glancing down to spot Hanzo’s half-hard length poking at his thigh. Hanzo’s answer is a puff of smoke in his face. “You gotta stop feeding me the good stuff, I quit that filthy habit a while ago.”

“What if I want you on your knees?” Hanzo’s request takes a moment to sink into his brain, but the moment it does, McCree drops to his knees, hands at both sides of his thighs, squeezing gently. He glances up at him with a wolfish grin.

“Don’t ya’ wanna go back to the bed?” McCree teases, placing a kiss on his thigh, ignoring Hanzo’s cock completely. He shakes his head, eyes brimming with lust as he takes a drag and lets the smoke out in a thin trail.

“Is the floor cold?” Hanzo smirks.

“It ain’t too bad,” McCree chuckles, mouthing at his hip and a delicious dimple, his hand cupping a cold butt cheek. “Why did ya’ send me down here for?” A sultry smile stretches on Hanzo’s lips and McCree’s breath seizes in his chest.

“Suck my cock,” Hanzo toys with the almost finished cigarette in his hand.

“You gotta get hard first.” He drags his lips up to his navel, his palm pressed against his groin, his thumb stroking his balls. His half-hard length wants to awaken to his ministrations, but he knows Hanzo will need more than that.

“Get me hard.” The command curls his stomach nice and warm.

“Sure ya’ can take it, darlin’?” McCree mumbles, pressing tender kisses on soft skin.

“Hardly a challenge.”

They share a knowing glance while McCree grasps the hilt of his dick with two fingers and lets his tongue out to tease the still hidden tip. Hanzo’s intent voids pierce him in place as he takes one last drag and tosses the cig on the floor of the terrace. He’s waiting for him to stop teasing, to take him into his mouth and taste the swell of his cock against his tongue. “Where have ya’ been all my life?” Hanzo combs trembling fingers through his hair, gently at first, as delicate as McCree’s loving words that shrink his heart and fog his mind, then he grasps a handful of his hair, a furrow between his eyebrows.

McCree swallows, and to shut himself up, he gets his softened cock into the warm cave of his mouth and suckles rhythmically around it. 

A whole-body shudder courses through his spine. His tongue twirls around his skin, the wavering of his mouth coaxing a hard-on faster than ever. “You are outstanding with your mouth,” Hanzo groans. Both his hands bury in his hair and keep him in place.

McCree pulls away and suckles at the tip, getting it out of his hood with a demanding tongue. “I never thought the sights from my flat would get any better,” Hanzo teases, glancing down at McCree with a mischievous grin. His cheeks flush in pink, his spit-licked lips glistening in the dark.

The teasing does nothing to deter McCree’s sucking, and he slides Hanzo’s hard cock inside his mouth until he’s nuzzling against the black as night root of his shaft. He keeps him there warm and hot, feeling his cock swelling even further into his mouth. Then he suckles, his throat tightening, his tongue brushing the underside with ill intentions.

“Oh fuck,” Hanzo squirms, tugging at his hair with both hands while his hips buck up.

It never stops, that delicious sucking force around him, that wet, sinful mouth yet again turning him into a wanton. Hanzo thrashes his head back, the nightly breeze stroking his face while his cock jerks and tries to fuck his mouth to no avail. McCree has him grabbed by his butt cheeks, massaging and squeezing and stopping the not-so-subtle rocking against his flat tongue.

Then the lascivious relief is gone. Hanzo grunts and glares at McCree who leaves his now raging erection chilling in the nocturnal breeze while he licks and mouths at his balls. He wraps a hand around him out of pity, his thumb teasing at his oozing tip. “I want ya’ inside me,” McCree says with a wolfish grin, noting Hanzo’s cock pulsing into his hand. “I wanna feel how hard you bite while you fuck me silly.”

Hanzo’s smile sends a frisson through his body. “Careful what you wish for.”


	6. Toe-to-Toe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When two fighters don’t back down, stand directly in front of each other and exchange punches.

The night turned exactly into what McCree wanted all along: his most shameful, wet dreams made true, the man lurking his mind and hardening his cock filling every pore of his skin with lust, and want, and things McCree thought he didn’t need in his life until he found him. Hanzo Shimada was so much more than a selfish prick, or a spoiled brat, and McCree was so fucked. Literally.

“God, darlin’, your fingers feel so good,” he moans, the back of his head pushing against the pillow, a hand reaching for his unattended -and rock hard- cock, “don’t stop.”

“Stay still or I’ll tie you up,” Hanzo pats his hand away, smirking at the throbbing cock in front of him.

“You wish,” McCree chuckles until Hanzo crooks an eyebrow at him and the pair of fingers getting him ready still inside him.

His hand maps his abdomen, tracing every ridge, every bump of a body made in fights and extenuating training. Hanzo licks his lips, nestled in between McCree’s sprawled legs. “I would,” he warns, “and you’d ask for more.” Lubed fingers curl upward to massage his prostate, and McCree squirms from sheer pleasure. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like this, so intimately and yet so close to what his heart wants. McCree moans, his cock leaving a clear puddle near his navel, hard and firm in the air while he wrinkles his eyes shut and begs for those fingers to move again.

McCree has turned out to be everything he thought he’d be, and after a taste of what he could do in bed, Hanzo ached to reciprocate and turn him into a sore mess. The man could fuck, but he is determined to prove his own worth as a lover. So far, the sight has him hard and expectant for more. If he curls his fingers upward to brush against that sweet spot, McCree growls and wrings the mussed sheets with both hands, abandoning himself to Hanzo. The corner of his mouth pulls upward in a sly smile. “How responsive,” he teases.

“If ya’ touch me now I’ll come,” he breathes out.

Up for a challenge, Hanzo hunches over and licks McCree’s exposed sac. His hand lifts again to hug tightly his cock, but McCree halts midair, remembering Hanzo’s threat. “Good boy,” Hanzo rumbles, a smirk stretching on his lips. Fuck, it that doesn’t send McCree to seventh heaven. His stomach curls in delight, his cock twitching and pulsing under Hanzo’s wet, tongue. Not enough to make him come, just teasing and tasting in the sweetest of tortures.

As if he wanted to learn him by heart, Hanzo traces him from hilt to tip, noting the softness of his skin and the hardness contained underneath. What a beautiful, thick erection, the head purplish and swollen by the teasing, the tip glistening and leaking an endless clear trail. He presses kisses on his length, letting his tongue out to push against the juicy slit at the tip. McCree moans deliciously loud.

Hanzo usually finds loud lovers annoying and distracting, but for some reason, every noise that comes out of that man’s mouth is like a praise to his ego.

“Touch me,” McCree mumbles. Hanzo has turned the tables. “Please, darlin’…” Despite his plea for more, McCree holds onto the bedding while waiting for him. Hanzo chuckles, opening his mouth wide until he feels the hardness of his cock with his teeth. He clenches his jaw enough to bite the reason that not long ago, made him climax like he hadn’t in years. McCree pushes his chin against his chest and watches with wide-open eyes how Hanzo’s tongue swipes against his flesh while he senses the pointy end of his teeth. “You do have a bite, honey,” he teases. “Careful there.”

Hanzo bites gently before he releases him and resumes the endless torture of his tongue up and down his dick with no other purpose than driving him mad. Their game is a double-edged sword though, and he’s getting some kind of relief by grinding against mussed sheets. The hot shaft under his tongue awakes his most basic urges while McCree yields to his relentless tongue licking him as if he were a treat. Hanzo cannot bring himself to stop, elongating this as much as he can before he shoves himself deep in that well-prepped and slicked hole.

Who would have thought after getting on his knees Hanzo would send him for a quick shower before he would feast on him? McCree has lost track of time in the depths of his mouth and the playfulness of his fingers. Hanzo bit, pinched and licked his nipples until they were wet and throbbing. There are bites and hickeys in every imaginable corner of his torso, indentations of his teeth, hickeys, bruises of harsh bites and the watercolor marks of his kisses. All of it without touching him, without allowing him to cum, and damn if McCree isn’t into it. Everything he does to him pushes him a tad further into his own desperation, sexual frustration seeping into his bones like an itch he cannot scratch, not until the man is satisfied and willing to let him go.

“Hold your legs up for me,” Hanzo purrs innocently. McCree obeys, hooking them both by the knee pits hoping he gets a dick up his ass in exchange. Not quite yet.

Hanzo lies on his stomach, pushing his fingers all the way into him and completely out so gently McCree clenches around them as if to keep him there. His hands fondle the back of his thighs and spread him wider until Hanzo takes a delicious and slightly hurtful bite on his inner thigh. McCree winces with a whine. “Oh, please,” he begs.

“I am not done with you yet,” Hanzo threatens.

He darts his tongue out and outlines McCree’s slicked entrance while humming a moan. Hanzo smiles while licking his hole and sensing his body trembling as his own did hours ago. “Goddamnit,” McCree curses, angling himself up to get more of his mouth. He feels like coming if not for the lack of stimulation on his cock. It drips and leaks on his stomach while he writhes for more, mouth agape, the softness of Hanzo’s tongue pressed tightly against his stretched ass.

“Do not come yet,” Hanzo growls, a hand cradling his butt cheek, the other toying with his balls, his tongue resuming that sinful path up and down his rim. McCree can’t decide if he wants to sing or curse, anything that screams to the world this is the best night of his life.

Hanzo offers no truce, his hand fisting loosely his cock until he reaches a dripping tip, pre-cum smearing on his palm. Then he goes down his hard, pulsing shaft and releases him to nestle McCree’s heavy balls in his hand. McCree realizes the teasing goes both ways when he eyes Hanzo’s hips fucking the mattress; if only it was him instead. “Darlin’,” he gasps. How long can Hanzo keep this up before he begs again? Before he cries out his orgasm without even touching his dick? “Please, darlin’, throw me a bone,” he mumbles. Hanzo’s tongue laps and flicks into his hole while a chuckle rumbles in his chest. “Fuck me,” he begs.

“Already?” Hanzo teases as if his cock wasn’t about to explode too.

“I can’t… hold on any longer.” McCree thought his recent orgasms would have quenched his desire, but there he is, sporting a steel-hard erection while his balls draw up tight, ready to make him shoot his load again.

Hanzo presses an open-mouthed kiss on his ass before he straightens. A thin trail joins the tip of his cock with the mattress, and McCree graces him with a smug smile. “How do ya’ want me?”

“Just like this.” Hanzo motions himself between his legs, scooting closer until his thighs huddle against McCree’s backside and his cock rubs against his own. “I want to watch you.”

“Get inside me,” McCree says with pleading eyes. His chest rises and falls with a ragged breath. He unhooks his legs to slack them at both sides, offering him the only part he wants full of him. “Please, darlin’.”

Hanzo groans, aligning his cock and pushing until he’s engulfed by his tight heat. He curses under his breath, watching McCree as he wrinkles his eyes shut and moans. Both his hands move to his chest, stroking and squeezing the marks he left behind. Something stupid tells him he misses his touch, but Hanzo dismisses the thought and thrusts forward, shoving himself balls-deep into him. “God, yes,” McCree breathes out, glancing back at him with bedroom eyes.

The world trembles under his knees at the sight of this gorgeous man begging for his cock and waiting for him to claim ownership. Hanzo wished he could, that he were free enough to tie himself to him in every way possible and never let him go. But he believes the only marks he will leave on him are his bites, and even those will fade in time. _ Wishful thinking_, he chastises himself. Hanzo pushes those thoughts of foolish love aside, knowing they won’t survive the night. Eager hands roam the length of his perfectly toned stomach while he stares at the place they are joined. He can feel McCree’s stretch, his hole pulsing at the rhythm of his galloping heart, and he has to ground himself and meet his eyes to avoid his imminent release.

His eyes are gentle, lost in his own arousal, staring back at him with the full intent of his heart in the open. Gorgeous, caring man that ended up in his bed by chance. “Good?” McCree nods, the corner of his mouth lifting upward in a reassuring smile.

“Gimme more,” he says in a deep grumble. “Gimme all ya’ got, darlin’.”

His hands find his hips to keep him in place while he pulls out and comes back in a seamless glide. McCree thrashes his head back as he enters him again; the torture, the man who would never be satisfied until he’s a begging mess. For someone who wanted a fast, meaningless fuck, he has taken his time with him. Hanzo has kissed and bitten his body everywhere as if he was drowning him in pleasure instead of just fucking him. _ God, drown me_, McCree wonders.

Hanzo tightens his hold on him, encompassing the rocking of his hips with the tempo of his breathing. He’s not in a hurry, thrusting into him at a steady rhythm, building up McCree’s climax as slowly as he can until it overflows of him. His body tightens around him whenever his wonderfully curved cock brushes against his prostate. And the moans, the little whines, the mumbled curses that come out of McCree’s lips in a blue streak.

“Jesse,” Hanzo calls with a smirk, never ceasing the tender swaying of his hips.

McCree finds his eyes with not a hint of surprise in them. “Yes, darlin’?”

“Are you ready to come?”

“I was born ready,” he brags, torn between giving in and succumbing to his release and wanting more of Hanzo abusing every memorable spot on his body.

Hanzo reaches up to cup his jaw, a teasing thumb making room for itself into his mouth. “Not yet,” he smiles the words for he is in control. A taste of his desperation and he already wants more, to push him to limits his body has never known. _ One night? _He scoffs wryly. Never enough. “Suck.”

McCree latches on his thumb as if it were his cock again; sucking and pulling until he can’t take more, lips rounding the second knuckle. Hanzo teases him pushing his tongue down inside his mouth until he gags. Grasping the painted dragon on his wrist, McCree keeps him there, somehow wishing he could do this every night. That would be the dream.

He’s overstimulated, a hard cock deep up his ass, a hand toying with his sac, his mouth full of his taste, his finger. “Good boy.” His stomach tumbles over and his groin tightens. It feels so good to listen to those words in that cold, raspy voice. It should be intimidating but it sounds caring, and approving, and praising, and he has always been weak for it. He’s overwhelmed by the need to abandon himself to Hanzo despite promising he’d never do that again.

His heart has been broken too many times, his bed lonely, cold, and empty or worse, filled with men that made it feel like that until he had nothing more to offer to them. This is something else entirely. He’s done for, defeated, with no choice but to let that man own him in any way he wants. Perhaps it is the desire burning him from the inside, the lust leashed to Hanzo’s will. Maybe once he comes, reason takes over, and he forgets this stupid feeling of falling without a parachute. _ A fool_.

While Hanzo fucks into him faster, he wraps a hand around his cock and McCree moans loudly at the sudden stimulation. Hanzo withdraws his finger and runs it over spit-licked lips. “Hanzo,” he mutters half-angry, half-delighted by his doing. His length throbs at the tempo of his heart; it’s warm and hard, and ready to release. “Please.” But his hand gives a quick, long stroke before ruthless fingers clamp his hilt. “Damn.”

The man fucks like he’s starved, or so the deep thrusts that never leave him empty hint, but he has no hurry to devour him. McCree hopes he leaves nothing of him behind, he wouldn’t be able to bear it. Hanzo strokes his way in and out of him, speeding up his pace enough to feel the heat rush in his belly and the lascivious desire to pound into him until he spills. _ Not yet. _

“Just like that, darlin’,” McCree mumbles, legs boneless at both sides of his body, his hand still gripping Hanzo’s wrist. His cock puts pressure on his prostate, and far from pulling out, Hanzo thrusts so deep, pushing, filling him to the brim. “Please, touch me,” McCree moans, desperate to cum all over himself once and for all.

“How much do you want it?”

“Ya’, bastard,” McCree chuckles. A veil of sweat covers his skin, and his honest amusement dies when Hanzo squeezes the base of his cock at the same time he slams back into him. McCree grunts. “Please, honey…” No endearment seems to appease the need to see him come undone. His hand joins Hanzo’s on his cock, brushing the back of his hand as if he could convince him otherwise. “Please,” he breathes out.

The warm, soft hand envelopes his cock in the sweet embrace he needs. Another plea pours out of his lips in a thin voice. “Please.”

Hanzo caves in to his demands, pumping loosely his sensitive, swollen cock at the rhythm of his fucking. He smiles as he admires how he pants and whines at every slam, ready to spill by the cock splitting him open. He grips his waist to keep him in place while he gives him exactly what he wants. It takes barely a few strokes to push McCree over the edge.

“Hanzo.”

With his name on his lips, McCree wrinkles his eyes shut. A low guttural groan fills the room as he paints his chest in pearlescent stripes. Hanzo holds him through it, moving his hand while his body tightens around his cock as if it wanted to swallow him whole and keep him there. He’s too lost in McCree’s pleasure that he forgets his own. Movements gauged to please him as if somehow, he could sneak under his skin that way, imprint himself into his body and soul and make him remember him for the rest of his days; if not him at least their night together. No one can take that from them, only time, and oblivion.

“Beautiful,” Hanzo murmurs, his thumb tracing his softened cock up and down as the last spasms course through McCree. Gorgeous cock twitching into his hand and wanting to spill more when there’s nothing left. Beautiful man, beautiful sight. Hanzo leans forward and tastes him from his own hard abdomen, noting the muscles relaxing, his breathing hitching up at the touch of his tongue. Bitter and all, his climax belonged to him alone.

Hanzo notes trembling fingers threading into his hair, and glances up at McCree’s blushing face and loving eyes. He licks again the tender skin of his stomach with a smirk on his lips. It doesn’t take much until he licks him clean of his cum. “You’re a wild ride, honey.” Before he can pull him into a kiss, Hanzo straightens, grabbing his still hard cock by the hilt and caressing McCree’s softened hole with his knuckles.

“What am I going to do with you now?” he teases, motioning to pull out.

“Wait,” McCree gasps, “you’re hard, keep fucking me.” He whines softly when Hanzo thrusts back in.

“You sure?”

“Damn sure.” Not even the slight discomfort when he brushes his prostate or the soreness on his stretched hole would be enough to leave him unsatisfied. But Hanzo pulls out slowly, his fingers teasing him where moments ago he was buried in his heat.

“Turn around,” Hanzo whispers, the smirk that he has learned to identify as a smile stretching on his lips. He obeys so quickly his cheeks flush in red. McCree lies on his stomach, a leg stretched on the bed, the other huddled against his side. “Stay like this,” Hanzo murmurs, groping for his toned butt cheeks. The man is sculpted from head to toe with firmly rounded muscles. Hanzo smiles; he’s his for the night.

“Just get inside me,” McCree says, glancing back at him while he braces himself on his forearms.

Hanzo straddles his leg and scoots closer, his fingers swiping a new coat of lube on his rim. He slides one inside, and McCree grunts from the back of his throat. “Feels good?”

“You’re a tease.”

“I don’t mind doing something else,” Hanzo offers, two fingers sliding in effortlessly. His own erection throbs for more at the sight and the touch of him. He knows McCree will wince and whine the moment he puts pressure on his sensitive prostate, and yet the thought coils down in him when he realizes that’s exactly what he wants to do.

“I’m getting’ hard again,” McCree brags. He strokes his softened cock loosely, half-hard with no promise for more, but a man can try.

Hanzo guides his cock inside him, his breath seizing in his chest when he’s trapped again in his heat, this time with the freedom of movement to fuck him senseless at whatever pace he deems fit. He knows McCree’s attempt to awaken his cock with a soft but firm jacking off is pointless, so he leans forward, bracing himself with a forearm on the bed. “It’s too soon,” he whispers into his ear. “Let it go, focus on me.”

His hips move in shallow thrusts, accommodating himself to explore as deep as he can. He nuzzles in the crook of his neck, reveling in the slight sweat covering his skin. The man smells like heavens too, musky and manly.

“You feel good,” McCree murmurs, turning about enough to find Hanzo’s lips.

They kiss as they fuck, which is a hard-no for Hanzo but he has no heart to refuse him. How could he? Those lips were made for him; they kiss him like no one ever has; they know him better than himself, so Hanzo kisses him back with the full intent of his thrusts. He has no more willpower to remain tamed and teasing, he slides in and out of him gently enough but seeking his own pleasure in McCree’s body. He has offered it so selflessly his mind cannot wrap around it.

No utter motive, no conflict of interest, no future marriage proposal involved. “You are mine,” Hanzo babbles in the heat of the moment.

Far from surprised, McCree melts underneath him, lifting his ass at him as the thrusts become frantic and come accompanied with a grunt. Hanzo anchors a knee on the mattress and clenches his teeth around his shoulder until McCree mumbles a curse and hides his face in the pillow. A strong hand grips a butt cheek and keeps him in place.

He feels so good, so warm, and tender, and Hanzo is so close to his climax he trembles as his body glides against him in a well-rehearsed back and forth. Hanzo clenches his teeth tighter before he releases him. “Keep going,” McCree mumbles. His softened cock brushes against the bedding, and despite he won’t come so soon, he still loves getting fucked from behind knowing Hanzo is about to burst into him. He can feel his imminent climax, the swelling of his cock splitting him open, the harshness of his bites, his forehead pressed in between his shoulder blades while his hips slam into him. “Get it all out.” McCree wants it so bad he almost begs.

Hanzo needn’t more than those encouraging words to spill while sunk deep inside him. He muffles a loud moan into his skin and then exhales a shaky breath. “Fuck,” he gasps, collapsing onto McCree’s back. He lies there, his softening cock slipping outside followed by a trail of his own lust. The warm comfort in between his butt cheeks brings a smile to his lips. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” McCree says, enjoying his weight on top of him. “So good.”

“I’ll take care of you again later,” Hanzo promises with a kiss on his shoulder and rolls on his back with a deep sigh.

McCree turns to face him with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Ya’ wanted it fast and hard, but you’re pretty gentle yourself,” he teases, “not that I’m complaining.” His body still tingles with the aftereffects of his orgasm and the endless teasing Hanzo submitted him to, but he’s sure his face glows for the very same reasons.

“Isn’t that what you like?” Hanzo arches an eyebrow at him. The second his mouth went down on him, he knew McCree liked it slow and intense, that he would melt against him from overstimulation; and he did. “Or would you have liked me to abuse your ass until you were gaping and full of my cum?”

McCree blinks, the corner of his mouth pulling upward in a languid smile. “That sounds so damn temptin’,” he drawls, reaching for a quick peck on his lips. “I’d take anything you wanna give, darlin’,” another sweet, slightly longer kiss joins their breaths, “no complaints.”

A sly smile stretches on Hanzo’s lips as he turns on his side and then rolls on top of McCree’s muscular body. “Because you are a good boy,” he purrs knowingly. His finger traces McCree’s jaw tenderly as their legs entangle in a mess of limbs.

“Damn it,” McCree chuckles as a watercolor red tinge spreads on his cheeks, “ya’ got me.”

Too close, too intimate. This cowboy makes him forget who he is, or perhaps he reminds who he is and what he wants despite living trapped in a life too tight for his soul. For the first time in his life, Hanzo stretches out of his cage without a single regret, and no fear, except maybe, the sunrise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you if you're still reading! ヾ( 〃ω〃)ｯ   
The last chapter will be up next week, and it's a long one (⁄ ⁄^⁄ᗨ⁄^⁄ ⁄)  
See y'all then! <3


	7. Technical Knockout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A technical knockout is the ending of a fight, determined by the referee, before it has gone the predetermined distance on the grounds of one contestant's inability to continue, the opponent being declared the winner.

Before they would fall asleep irremediably and had woken up with the remainder of their night lost to sleep, Hanzo dragged McCree to the shower one last time. The boxer suspected he didn’t want to fall asleep, and neither did he. He lost count of the rounds, like in a good fight, and he sought his lips as the sole comfort to appease his aching heart. _ One night_, two words that thumped in his heart like a baleful storm. _ Just one night_.

On their way to the shower, he took a detour to fuck him on top of the dresser remembering the shameless offering first thing in the night. He kissed him and pounded into his body until only whimpers came out of Hanzo’s plump lips. What a sweet reward for every single one of his onslaughts. He finished the job against the tiles of the shower. There was no way McCree would leave without feeling his weight on his arms, his legs hooked on his elbow pits in a slippery grip, his ankles spurring him on, and the heat of his body hugging him close to his climax yet once more.

All of it as he ravished his mouth to his heart’s content. God was he beautiful crying out his name into his mouth while his own cock shot his load deep inside him. McCree would live there, in his arms, in his body, feeding off one night of lust and love. But after a soul-tearing orgasm, the doubts assailed his mind, his body trembling even under the lukewarm water of the shower. How will he survive after tonight? Without him?

A single night seemed like a blessing and ended up being a curse. They stared into each other’s eyes while he let Hanzo down on his feet and they caught their breaths. He could read the same insecurities in his eyes, the same pain and loneliness, and it strangled them both for a few seconds before the desire to stretch the night conquered them again. Lips curled upward, kisses were shared, and by the time they reached the bed, they had forgotten whatever pain shrank their hearts.

The shower had washed away their sorrow but never their lust. As if McCree could keep his hands off of Hanzo once they lied in bed; as if the passionate kisses hadn’t turned into a languid slow dance. Who knows how long it passed before they were side by side sucking each other off, cocks hard again.

McCree basked in the creamy skin of his thighs as he swallowed around him as if sexual gratification was the only thing they had left. When he didn’t have enough, Hanzo rolled on top of him, and he hugged his thighs and groped for his butt cheeks, taking every single thrust into his mouth while he bucked his hips up into Hanzo’s willing mouth. God, the man could take him deep and suck him dry for the rest of his life for all he cared.

Everything about Hanzo has him mesmerized. The lonesome air about him turned into a newly found passion and it seems like they’re going to fuck until they can no longer move or cum.

McCree gags on his cock with no intentions to let go, his balls pressed against his nose. A hot spurt shoots down his throat, his mouth wavering around him as he swallows. He finds a similar relief not long after, his cock jerking in the tight grip of his mouth, his balls nestled in a warm, clammy palm. He groans and shoves his softening cock in between those surely skilled lips already missing its warmth.

They’re both a mess, a hot, horny mess. Hanzo’s legs tremble as he escapes McCree’s arms. “Come up here,” McCree mumbles, smacking affectionately his cheek and pressing a kiss on his inner thigh. Hanzo turns around, stretching on top of his chest as if the mattress itself wasn’t good enough for him. Damp, disheveled hair drapes down his shoulder, sticking to his cheeks. McCree combs it back, feeling its softness, and then wipes remnants of spit and cum from the corner of his mouth. “You’re breathtaking, sweetheart.”

Before he can notice the blush on his cheeks, Hanzo leans forward to kiss him silly. He rolls until the crook of his neck molds his bicep, a leg slacking over him, his hand trickling his way down his navel to find a flat cock still covered in his spit. McCree moans into his mouth, curling around Hanzo to cuddle closer. God, the man loves to play with his dick until it’s soft only to start again and get him rock-hard.

But they’re too tired, and he can feel the sleepiness fogging their minds as their kisses turn lazy and slow, and so wholesome; as if they had been doing this their whole lives, as if they had to make up for the years they couldn’t kiss because they hadn’t met yet. “Jesse,” Hanzo mumbles, dragging his lips over his mouth. It is as though he was testing the sound of his name on his bare lips. “Don’t fall asleep.”

McCree squeezes him tightly in a full-body hug. The bed was definitely too big, but they’re curled around each other. He pulls back, drowning in sorrowful, dark eyes. “Howdy,” McCree says, a striking grin stretching on his lips. Hanzo’s heart shrinks at how sexy he is when he smiles, or when he’s tired, or when he comes, or when he says his name. “What’s the story behind the swords?” he asks.

“What makes you think there is a story about them?”

“Ya’ have them in front of your bed,” McCree says, “they’re the first thing you see in the mornings and the last when you go to sleep.”

Hanzo exhales a deep sigh, leaning on his elbow, his gaze fixed on him. He’s considering whether to share this or not. What is there to lose? “I was eighteen and Genji had just turned sixteen,” Hanzo begins, “our father gave us the swords and we thought it was a birthday present. We followed a strict training routine in laido and kyudo.” McCree’s lips tug upward. He knew Hanzo could dice him if he wanted. “We were no strangers to swords or even guns, being born in the Shimada family comes with a lot of burdens, but we were so excited.”

“I can imagine,” McCree chuckles.

“Until our father asked us to duel against each other.” Hanzo’s eyebrows knit at the memories. “It wasn’t the first time, we were used to training together, but not like this.”

“Ya’ mean…”

“Not with blades that could cut us in half.” His stomach clenches with the same fear he felt that day. His father wouldn’t budge, he told them to unsheathe the katanas and fight. Genji didn’t lose his smile, too innocent to realize what his father was asking from them. Hanzo knew and hated him to the core. “My father saw through my restraint in battle, he saw my fear of hurting Genji and he got angry.”

“But he couldn’t possibly mean for you to fight for real,” McCree grumbles.

“He said we would be there until we spilled blood because only a Shimada can make another Shimada bleed.” Sweet, innocent Genji lost his smile there, glancing anxiously at Hanzo. He still remembers his father’s eyes, the ruthless glare he gave him before Hanzo lunged forward against his little brother. It was the only way all of that would stop, Genji would never harm him, he would rather drop the sword and flee, but Hanzo knew better than to test Sojiro’s patience. “Now I realize we could have teamed up against him, but I was…”

“Just a kid,” McCree finishes, tucking a loose strand behind his ear. “M’sorry I asked.”

“It’s part of who I am, it’s only fair after…” _ After letting you get under my skin, after allowing myself so close to you, my heart about to leap out of my chest, my lips tingling for your kisses, and my soul dreading the sunrise_. “… after tonight.”

McCree turns to his side too, scrutinizing Hanzo’s countenance and finding the origin of all his pain in his father. “What happened?” His gaze is lost in the pair of katanas, his throat bobbing up and down as if swallowing a bitter memory. In an instant, McCree realizes he has never told this story out loud before.

After a deep sigh, Hanzo continues with a thin voice. “I injured him,” he says, his eyebrows knitting in concern, a dark shadow crossing those eyes that moments ago, brimmed with lust. “If my father wanted us to fight, there was no other way, so I fought, I won, and I made him bleed. He taught us to obey him blindly, to be filial,” Hanzo scoffs.

Genji’s teary eyes still wake him up at night, the screech when his big brother hurt him on behalf of their father. Somehow Sojiro was proud of him, maybe the first and only time he had been, and it came with a rush of hatred because deep in his heart, Hanzo knew he wanted Genji to win. “Satisfied, my father stopped the fight, and I was disgusted at myself and worried sick for my brother.” McCree’s gentle lips press against his own as if that would comfort him. It does. “I’ve never wielded a sword again,” Hanzo mumbles. But what he means is that he will never forgive himself for what he did. He should have been stronger, smarter, rebel against his father, but never please him with a fight that could have opened a breach between them greater than the one on Genji’s right arm.

“He shouldn’t have put you in that position,” McCree murmurs. He’s speechless, reading Hanzo’s pain in his countenance as if finally, there was no wall between them even if it lasts a few moments. McCree has done crazy shit as a teenager, playing with guns and getting into brawls for the sake of it, but they were his own mistakes, no one roped him into them except, perhaps, that time Ashe talked him into robbing a cargo from the Deadlock Gang.

“But you’re as thick as thieves now, right?” McCree nudges him, trying to shake him off his misery.

Hanzo smirks. “We are.” They promised to never let something like that happen again and they sealed their promise with matching dragon tattoos in green and blue. His father could try to sprout bad blood between them, but the moment they received the swords, one for each, they felt like equals, brothers, joined by a bond beyond their bloodline. He ruined it all with his madness, but he could never get in between them. “He wanted to teach us a lesson,” Hanzo trails off, murmuring for himself, “our mother was gone and ever since the day she died, he changed.”

“Did he?” McCree asks with a frown. “Teach you a lesson.”

“One I will never forget.” He may never forgive himself for endangering his brother’s life or for wanting his father’s approval when he needed none, to begin with, but that’s what made him who he is now. “None of this,” Hanzo lifts his chin and McCree understands he means Hanamura, “is ours until we fight and pay for it with our own blood.”

McCree cups his face and presses their foreheads together. “Thank ya’ for sharin’ that with me,” he whispers before he drops a gentle kiss on his lips, and then another one; until they chase each other again in the same hide and seek game they’ve been playing all night. If everything comes with a price, can they afford this night together?

They’re in a weird place where reality seems to stretch beyond what they’ve known until then. The night concealing fears, bringing up the past, and fogging the future. At least they have each other in this precise moment in time. Their lives collided way too unexpectedly; if to drift apart after just one night or entangle forever, they can’t possibly know. But they can hope without daring to put thoughts into words.

McCree feels against his mouth as if he were rope-a-dope against the ropes; in danger, fending punches off, trying to hold on knowing he started a battle that he won’t win. At the end of tonight, he’ll be heartbroken.

Hanzo rolls on top of him, pulling at his lower lip while rubbing the length of his body against him. He never thought McCree would be so sweet, and as the hours passed by, he has no need to leash himself to a restraint that will only lead to regret. “You’re cold, sweetheart,” McCree teases, his hands palming cold butt cheeks.

“I am naked,” Hanzo quips. He leans on his surprisingly comfortable and muscled chest, his fingertips toying with loose strands of hair.

“I know.” McCree graces him with a sheepish grin, his hands fondling his bare skin.

Hanzo turns his gaze to the windows of the terrace while McCree buries his face in the crook of his neck. He mumbles endearments accompanied by kisses and soft bites, but Hanzo frowns at the increasing light stealing the night away and tingeing a black sky into a deep blue. What hour must be? Four, maybe five? Checking the hour isn’t something he’s willing to do; the moment he does time becomes real and the realization that their night is running out assaults him. A frisson runs through him and for a moment, he wants to stand and draw the curtains as if hiding the brightness would elongate the hours.

“Tell me about you, cowboy,” Hanzo says, turning his back to the imminent morning.

McCree chuckles at his request, missing his warmth over his body as he stares at the white ceiling. “I ain’t interesting,” he shrugs.

“Indulge me,” Hanzo whispers, his hand mapping his chest distractedly.

“There ain’t much to tell.” A sad smile stretches on his lips. “My mom died when I was too young and my pop when I was eighteen. Life was good and kind, and in the blink of an eye it wasn’t anymore, but I can’t complain.” McCree’s eyes burn with unshed tears even after so many years, or maybe it’s the vulnerability of sharing it with Hanzo. “They were good parents, and I took them for granted until they weren’t there for me.”

“I know what it’s like,” he whispers into his ear. “We lost our mother at an early age too.” McCree meets his eyes, a withheld smile on their lips despite the obvious distress shrinking their hearts at the memory of their lost family. “She was so beautiful.”

“Ya’ got it from her, huh?” McCree teases, and Hanzo stifles a smile.

“I’m amazed I can still remember her face. Genji was too young.” Sometimes he asks him to describe her as if he could recreate a memory out of Hanzo’s blurred childhood.

“No pictures? ‘Cause I sure have a bunch back home, and I’ll dust them off as soon as I’m back,” he jests, a strange warmth seeping into his heart.

Sojiro burned and deleted all pictures of her as if the mere sight of his late wife was unbearable, but it was yet another selfish decision he took unilaterally without considering his sons. After a pregnant pause, Hanzo shakes his head, and McCree knows better than to keep digging into it, so he changes the subject.

“Have you ever been to New Mexico?” Hanzo shakes his head. “My parent’s ranch is there, my ranch actually,” he chuckles. “We had livestock to breed and sell, mostly sheep and horses. Well, there’s nothing now. I sold whatever I could except for the land and the house and made a living out of boxing.” It had pained him to do so, but he couldn’t do it on his own, not in a house full of happy memories and the reminder of what he had lost. He needed to step back and follow his own heart even though he took some bad decisions at first.

“One day I’ll come back and revive the ranch,” McCree says, turning his head to look at Hanzo. “I always loved working with horses.” Hanzo snorts and McCree nudges him. “Hey! I was damn good at it.”

“I can’t picture you on a horse or working on a ranch,” Hanzo teases, although the thought of McCree bare-chested while riding a horse startles his mind. The sun would bathe and kiss his tanned skin, the heat permeating his body in a veil of sweat, his eyes almost golden under the sunshine.

“If your pretty ass comes to my ranch, I’ll give you a ride into the sunset,” McCree promises, stealing a soft smile from him. He would never come, would he? Seeing him after tonight, the prospect of keeping in touch or… more, curls his stomach nice and warm.

“What about your companions?” Hanzo crooks an eyebrow at him. “Where do they fit in all this?”

“Ashe and I met as teens,” McCree says, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. “She was the rich girl in town, and I was a handful. It was meant to be,” he jokes. Ashe could be described as the best and the worst thing that happened to him, he knew she would become family when he was at his lowest and Ashe never left him alone. He could count on her whether it was money, a shoulder to cry on or a partner to drink with. “We both loved getting into trouble.” If he had a gift to come up with the stupidest ideas, Ashe had a gift encouraging them.

“I thought there was something between you two… or had been,” Hanzo says, narrowing his eyes. Not that he minds, but he speaks fondly of her and she would tear the world apart for him. It awakens a sense of unjustified jealousy.

“What?” McCree snorts. “No! She’s like a sister to me.” Hanzo’s straight face makes him babble like a kid in trouble. “I mean, I was seventeen, and she was hot as sin, but,” he scoffs, “at the end of the day, I swing the other way…”

“So, you have never kissed her?” Hanzo pins him in place with that yakuza stare that gives him the creeps. One wrong answer and the morning light conquering the sky won’t be the reason he kicks him out of his bed. McCree swallows.

“I never said… oh God, why are you…” McCree stutters, frowning when Hanzo breaks into a hearty chuckle, burying his face on the pillow to muffle the pleasant sound that strokes his ears.

“I’m messing with you, Jesse,” he laughs.

“Damn it,” McCree curses, a wolfish grin stretching on his lips. “You do have a sense of humor behind that stiffness of yours.” He prods at his belly with a finger, making Hanzo laugh again. The thought of him ticklish and happy like this melts his heart, and without thinking, he throws an arm around his waist and pulls him closer, finding his cheek for a peck, then his smiling lips.

“You’re beautiful, darlin’,” McCree whispers.

“Don’t you mean, _ hot as sin_?”

McCree grunts as he bites his lower lip, committing to a deep, long kiss that will leave Hanzo breathless and hopefully out of puns. God, he’s sharp in the best way, in and out of bed. The way he demands more, combing his fingers through his hair and pushing him down into his mouth, how he arches his body into him as if seeking its warmth. If he had to guess, he wouldn’t have pegged him as needy at first sight, but after hours in his bed and into his body, McCree knows he needs Hanzo more than Hanzo needs him. And he hopes he never finds out.

“Truth is,” he mumbles, pulling back to look at him. Their legs tangle together, Hanzo’s hands mapping his way down his shoulders. “I’d be pretty alone if it wasn’t for Ashe and Gabe.” They’re his family after all.

“Gabe?”

“My trainer,” McCree smiles, “the old man’s like a father to me.”

“He taught you well.” As if he had forgotten, Hanzo remembers the fight that brought them together. McCree’s punches flying against his opponent with more or less luck. He bled and won hence they are here now. “What about boxing?” Hanzo asks, dreading the next fight and wondering if he’ll dare to watch helplessly this sweet man trading punches again.

“That was my last fight,” McCree says.

“Aren’t you too young to retire?”

“Better now while I can,” McCree quips. “I’m done fighting for a living. I got enough saved up and I think it’s time for a change.” Hanzo smiles inadvertently, staring at those eyes brimming with joy and a future brighter than the one he expected. “What? Ya’ gonna miss watchin’ me fighting after just one bout?” he teases.

“I wish to never see you up on a ring again,” Hanzo murmurs, a blush spreading on his cheeks.

“Not a fan of boxing?” McCree chuckles.

His fingers brush gingerly over the slightly bruised temple. “Of seeing you getting hurt for nothing,” he says. After spending the night making each other cum as many times as possible, words seem to pour out of him unabashed of their blatant meaning, and he cannot even be angry at himself for it.

From all the reasons he could have given to him, this one warms his heart with renewed hope, a fond smile tugging his lips upward. “Not for nothin’,” McCree whispers, rolling over him and dragging his lips over his mouth as he speaks. “I had a lot to win.” Hanzo Shimada is not what he expected, and in hopes to stretch the night, he traps his mouth in inescapable kisses. He cared somehow, he didn’t know him, they were just awkwardly attracted to each other. But he cared enough to seek him after the fight, to stay and watch him win, enough to tell him how much he cared now when they have nothing to hide and everything to lose.

What he cannot put into words, McCree puts into kisses. How he wished to pull the sheets above them and make a home of this bed, of him. Damned the world, attachments, dreams that twirl and change like a dragon in a pond, whispering his name; only his name. “Hanzo…” he breathes out into his mouth as if stating his own rambling mind.

“Are you like this with everyone you sleep with?” Hanzo mumbles in a daze.

McCree shakes his head as a grin grows wide and sincere on his lips. “I’m like this with ya’.”

“Liar,” Hanzo hisses, legs and arms entangling around a man his heart claims as his.

“I ain’t lying,” McCree whispers, his hands moving to thread into the silver strands at both sides of his head. “I ain’t lying,” he repeats even lower as if the truth would sink into his heart. He nuzzles against his nose, breathing in his scent and praying to save himself the trouble of a broken heart. Too late, too close… “I can’t lie when I’m fallin’.”

Hanzo has the breath knocked out of him, struggling to move under hard, heavy muscles. He feels the thundering of his heart against his chest, his ragged breath, but he’s mesmerized by whiskey-colored eyes that promise a lifetime when they only have one night. 

“Falling?” McCree presses him down as if wanting to muffle his own thoughts.

“For you, darlin’.”

At the same instant the words sink into his brain, McCree pushes his lips against his mouth and closes his eyes. Regretful or fearful, he’ll never know. Hanzo’s eyes open impossibly wide, his mouth hugging trembling lips that never hesitate but now still under his own words. Hanzo takes over, meeting him kiss by kiss and wrinkling his eyes shut while an unseen tear trickles down his temple. It soaks the pillow as if it was never there.

The kiss ends in a gasp, in a sharp intake of shared air. “You are a fool.”

“Your fool,” McCree quips.

Needless to say, he’s a fool in love with a yakuza that will kick him out of his bed in a few days if not when the sun comes up. How could he let him get under his skin so easily? Without noticing, McCree had no saying in it. Hanzo Shimada happened, and he lost his marbles in his sinful body, and his heart in every tidbit he learns about him. Nevertheless, he’s a fool with no regrets in this life except for the things he hasn’t dared to do; so better lay his cards on the table and hope for the best. Bad mood for a gambler when his heart is at stake.

“Do me again,” Hanzo demands, biting his lower lip and pulling while his body arches into him, awakening his interest. “Jesse.” McCree groans, snatching his jaw into his hand and devouring his mouth while his half-hard cock grinds against his stomach. One word from him and he gets hard in demand. Hanzo is like a point blank-range gunshot into his heart.

“Do what?” McCree teases, a wolfish grin on his lips, a clear trail joining their longing mouths.

“Fuck me.” Hanzo tilts his chin defiantly, but McCree tightens his grip on him.

“I told ya’,” he says, “I’m doin’ so much more than that…”

Hanzo squirms out of his hold, hiding the subtle smile as he lies on his side invitingly while McCree adjusts behind him. His arm stretches to fumble for the well-used bottle of lube. The touch of a cold, slippery hand on his cock sends a shiver down his spine, but McCree strokes himself hard while peppering kisses on Hanzo’s shoulder. He eyes him doing the same, and he reaches for his cock, coating his length in lube. “You’re welcome,” he retorts, teeth closing on his earlobe.

“Get inside me,” Hanzo urges, gazing at the imminent dawn.

The question of how can they keep going at it after hours and countless orgasms escapes his mind, but the mere thought of sliding home once more is motivation enough to stop fooling around. “Does that get ya’ hard?”

“Yes,” Hanzo grunts.

McCree spreads his cheek with a hand, smearing lube over a perfect, round cheek as he swivels his hips forward, his cock slipping up his rim and stealing a moan from him. “Jesse,” Hanzo growls and is so adorable McCree stifles a chuckle. Instead, he aligns his cock and pushes inside him in a seamless, comfortable glide. A long session of unrestrained sex has Hanzo tender and ready to accommodate his girth.

They both sigh at the emotional relief of being joined, as if the worries that assaulted them had been banished from the bed and replaced by their intimacy. McCree spoons him, shoving himself into his heat, an arm sneaking under Hanzo’s neck and bringing him even closer to him.

“We’re gonna be so sore in the mornin’,” he whispers against his ear, teasing tingeing his words.

Hanzo chuckles, sliding a leg over his thigh. That last inch he needed fills him to the brim, and Hanzo whines, a wave of pleasure curling his stomach, his cock dripping into his knuckles. “Move,” he demands.

McCree mouths at his neck while rocking into him. It feels so good, so right, so perfect. He has no wish to fuck or come, he’s contented by being there, together, inside him. Hanzo in his arms, whining and melting at every shallow thrust. They’re hard and weary, refusing to let go. “More, Jesse,” Hanzo gasps, turning his head to glance at him and not at the morning brightness. “More.”

McCree covers his mouth in kisses, his hand digging holes into his flesh, his cock pounding into his heat at the rhythm of his breathing; faster every passing second, sending his heart for a gallop at the intensity of the moment, of the touch-starved man in his arms. He asks for what he always wanted to give, and his throat constricts in a mixture of fear and joy. “Tell me what ya’ want,” McCree mumbles, dragging his lips over abused lips, his hand brushing against a perked nipple.

At the question, Hanzo’s eyes spring open, his breath seizing in his chest. “I want you,” he breathes out. His heart leaps, his hips halt, his mind debating in between believing him or assuming this is a dream and that he’ll wake up alone in his bed. “I want you,” Hanzo repeats, deep, black eyes looking terrified at the truth leaving his lips and the stillness behind him.

“I’m yours,” McCree almost chokes on his words. “All yours, darlin’.” He hugs him so close Hanzo gasps. “As if you didn’t already know.” He buries his face in the crook of his neck, biting, and licking his skin, feeling the racing of his heart against his palm. His body sways against him, barely leaving him only to come back in the next heartbeat. McCree realizes he could spend his life like this and die a happy man. Every night, every day, with Hanzo.

Hanzo turns his head to peek at a periwinkle blue sky. What started as a game seems so real now. He let him closer than anyone else in his life, partly because he would leave the morning after, but now that the morning is here his heart shrinks at the thought of saying farewell to him. He has no time to dwell on what might happen later, and he also knows he cannot tie someone to him despite what he wants. Hanzo is a mastermind renouncing to the pleasures he desires and wishes to pursue knowing his father would rip him apart from every single one of them.

McCree goes as deep as he can go, mumbling sweet nothings against his skin. But it’s not enough. Hanzo escapes his arms, his cock leaving him dolefully empty for a moment. He straddles him, reaching back for his lubed cock and sinking on to his knees at the same time McCree enters him. His dick swells at the contact with his stretched hole. Hanzo thrashes his head back and sighs a moan.

McCree cups his face with both hands and tilts his head forward. He looks at him with a love-struck glance that pierces his heart. “You’re tired.” Hanzo shakes his head, his hips bouncing up and down as he fucks himself with his cock. McCree moans, his hands falling to grope for his thighs. Weary, defeated, conquered, and together; for how long? The man rides him with not a bit of shame but a sensual blush on his cheeks, glancing back at him behind hooded lids.

He likes being watched, admired, worshiped, and McCree would do all those things for him in the blink of an eye. “You’re beautiful,” he mumbles, mesmerized by the sinuous curve his body traces, bucking up his hips to meet those delectable movements with thrusts of his own. He feels like an amateur underneath him, his eyes riveting the length of his torso, the dragon twitching along with his muscles. “God, you’re beautiful.”

And then Hanzo smiles as he rides him and his world crumbles. Or is it a smirk? With a hint of smugness and nonchalance. That’s him altogether, he had a glimpse tonight, the small gift that is to peek at Hanzo Shimada and know him better than most. His home, his bedroom, his body, his mind, he soaked him all up for less lucky nights.

A veil of perspiration coats his skin, and McCree feels yet again another climax pooling deep down his groin. “Honey… I can’t.” His hands map his thighs up and down until he gropes for his ass and hinders his movements in favor of his own. He feels so hot, so tender, so easily broken with just a handful of kisses. Hanzo is not the same stiff prick that didn’t even shake his hand upon meeting him nor the guy that expected to leave that locker room as quickly as he came in.

“Jesse,” Hanzo gasps, bracing himself with a firm hand against his chest while the other strokes his cock ruthlessly fast.

McCree lifts his upper back off the bed while Hanzo hunches over. They meet halfway; for a kiss, for a shared moan, a desperate cry. Hanzo spills whatever is left in him on McCree’s stomach and the cowboy shoots his orgasm into him at the same time. Their ragged breaths replace the noises of flesh against flesh, their moans, their loud thoughts. Nothing remains except for the afterglow of a rounded night.

Hanzo collapses on top of him, boneless, and McCree receives him with open arms, feeling once more the rapture of a vulnerable Hanzo in his arms. Their minds foggy from the lack of sleep and rounds of sex neither of them could prolong any longer. “You’re the best sex I’ve ever had,” Hanzo whispers against his shoulder, pressing a smile on heated skin.

“That why you’re keepin’ me?” McCree pats his backside.

“You’re a good kisser too.” Hanzo lands a peck on his lips as if he had been doing it his whole life, but before McCree can pull him into his arms, he rolls away from him and sits on the edge of the bed, back facing the windows and his lover. McCree cleans himself with already ruined sheets and frowns. He wasn’t expecting the sudden escape.

“It’s easy when the company is like being home,” he whispers, fingertips grazing the bare skin of his back.

Hanzo digs his elbows on his still trembling knees and pinches the bridge of his nose, already nursing a headache.

It’s morning already, the night is undeniably over and Hanzo dreads if he clings to him now, he’ll never let him go. It wouldn’t be fair. Despite how sweet and caring McCree is, he knows what a deal means, what they agreed upon and what his life is: a nightmare he’d rather live on his own. In a couple of hours, the sun will shine brightly into his room and they won’t be able to ignore it. Why wait for it like a death sentence when he can say farewell now and sulk on his stupidity for the rest of the day?

With the thought of him sleeping on tumbled sheets imprinted with his musky scent and recent sex, Hanzo sighs. “Night’s over, cowboy,” he says, his voice unwavering despite the instant regret and bittersweet taste those words leave in his mouth. His heart aches with a familiar sentiment of loneliness as it shelters behind broken walls.

McCree’s fingers halt caressing his skin and he reluctantly lifts them. “I’ll take my leave then.” His voice is deep and raspy. He knew they agreed on a one-night stand, that the time would come when the subtle invitation to leave would come out of Hanzo’s lips.

If he doesn’t stand up, he’ll make a fool of himself following Hanzo Shimada like a faithful dog. _ I made my _ _ own _ _ bed_, he curses inwardly. McCree stands and finds his boxers and jeans at the foot of the bed, sneaking a few glances at an unmoving Hanzo.

It was a good fight, an outstanding night. He’s beyond tired and wishing to drop dead into his bed to regret his life decisions for the next century. Maybe this is a good time to rescue that bottle of whiskey he saved up for a celebration. Instead, he’ll be drowning his tears in it. With his boots in his hand and unbuckled jeans around his hips, McCree places a hand on the doorframe, staring at the long, gloomy hall. _ Say something, don’t be an ass, one last kiss. _

Hanzo stared at his own hands as he dressed up, his heart hammering into his chest at the thought of never seeing him again. One night was not enough to sate him, but enough to leave him longing for more. Now he lifts his gaze at him. McCree stands under the threshold of his bedroom as if stepping outside would put an end to everything. Hanzo hates himself for what he’s about to do, for the trouble, the desperation in his actions, the weakness he’s always been chastised for, but after tonight…

In two strides and a sharp intake of air, Hanzo crushes against his back, holding McCree from behind and pressing his face in between his shoulder blades. He can feel his heart pounding into his chest and the thud that the boots make on the floor when McCree drops them. The mere thought of waking up without him clenches his stomach in sorrow. “Leave,” Hanzo pleads, squeezing him tightly, “or stay, but whatever you do, do not regret it.”

McCree pulls the grip on his arms apart, turning and nestling Hanzo’s dejected face into his hands. He kisses his lips before he smiles. “I ain’t ready to say goodbye to ya’, hell, I don’t know if I ever will,” he chuckles. Maybe it’s easier if he scares him now and Hanzo kicks him out, but he gets another kiss in response and a courageous retort itches in his throat. “I should’ve asked for more than a night.”

“One at a time, cowboy,” Hanzo quips.

McCree lifts him off the floor and takes him back where he belongs: the bed. Needless to say, he’s staying with him, getting a good morning sleep only to get back on exploring his body upon waking up. He wiggles his jeans and boxers off and slides on the bed behind him, hugging him as close as his tired muscles allow him. One moment he was not ready to leave, and the next he’s back against his warmth. Hanzo turns around enough to find his lips willing for a wholesome morning kiss. A kiss in which they both smile.

“My life is complicated,” Hanzo mumbles.

“I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” McCree has been kissing him all night knowing he wouldn’t kiss anyone else, basking in the certainty that he’d spend the rest of his nights flooding Hanzo with the love he deserves which is all the love he has to give. “On one thing I was right,” McCree mumbles, burying his nose in Hanzo’s mussed hair while he snuggles against him.

“Hm?”

“I don’t know about ya’, but I’m sore as hell.”

Hanzo nudges him lazily with his elbow before he closes his eyes, not minding the blinding brightness coming in through the windows. He was a fool, indeed, for believing he could let him go after the first kiss they shared. He’ll deal with the consequences of this later on, but for now, he’ll sleep in his arms without a single regret. Tonight he decides he’s free of burdens and obligations that have led his life until now.

Until his phone chimes twice and his eyes open wide as if he had the drowsiness of the sleepless night knocked out of him. Then it rings and Hanzo _ knows_. Only Genji’s texts and calls come through at this hour. And his father’s. Hanzo squirms out of the sleepy cowboy’s hold to reach for his phone. It’s 5:30.

“_Genji? _ ” McCree grunts softly, circling his waist with an arm as he takes the importunate call. “_Slow down._” McCree frowns at the quick Japanese coming out of Hanzo’s lips but then smiles at how sexy he sounds. He hangs up after just a few seconds, a deep furrow between his eyebrows, his hand fidgeting with the phone as he stares at the pair of katanas in front of his bed. McCree shifting beside him brings him out of his pensiveness.

“C’mere,” McCree mumbles, but when Hanzo stiffens under his arm, he worries and forces himself awake. “Ya’ okay?” The lack of sleep seems to have its toll on him. Under eyes darkened by a shadow enhance by his pale complexion. “Hanzo.”

“I don’t know.” After a pause that seemed like an eternity, Hanzo meets his eyes and they are cold-hearted and distant as if reality had stolen the brief happiness that bathed them moments ago. “That was my brother,” he mumbles. “My father is dead.”

McCree blinks twice. “M’sorry, Hanzo,” he says, straightening and cupping his face with a hesitant hand. He thought he might pull away from him, but Hanzo leans into his caress. What else can he say to that? He cannot even grasp the true meaning of those words, but he guesses it means more than losing a member of your family. He offers him the comfort of his silence and a gentle caress on his dry cheek. His eyes seem to reveal a myriad of emotions simultaneously, and mourning isn’t one of them.

“Either we flee Hanamura or we fight for our legacy,” he rambles, as if considering a million options in the fleeting second he was silent.

“And what are ya’ gonna do?”

The implications of the situation go beyond the loss of the last member of their family; if they want to rule Hanamura, they’ll have to prove themselves to the Elders. Which will mean more blood spilled, seeking retaliation for his father’s impromptu death, and those ancient, greedy men will never agree to have them both sitting at the throne. They’ll demand a payment in gold and blood that he’s not sure he can afford. His eyes study McCree’s while his inner turmoil leaves him shaken, but never motionless. Does he want to be a Shimada? Does Genji? Is it worth committing to a life as a crime lord and die as lonely and doomed as his father? Do they have a choice?

“Darlin’?” McCree whispers shyly.

Hanzo leans forward until their noses bump into each other. He gasps and closes his eyes as if the answer to all those questions was right there. Their lips seal in a fleeting kiss that dies in a fearful sob. Hanzo cherishes their now-familiar warmth, the velvety touch, the comforting home he has made of them in just one night for his kisses are all he has left.

Against McCree’s warm breath and gentle kisses, Hanzo realizes he already knows the answer to what he wants. And there’s nothing more terrifying than freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧  
I hope the open ending was satisfying enough, it sure was for me since I know these two fools won't stay away from each other regardless of where they go or what they do.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and leaving comments and kudos and... see y'all on the next one ~ヾ ＾∇＾

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ╭( ･ㅂ･)و ̑̑ ˂ᵒ͜͡ᵏᵎ⁾✩
> 
> I took all the boxing references from [here](https://www.titleboxing.com/boxing-dictionary) and you can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/eZianita)


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